Sorting Ceremony 2025 - 2026

The nerves had finally settled after the train ride, mostly thanks to the wonder of the boat ride. While some of the other children might have been chatting amongst one another, Wes remained quiet as he took in the mystery of this new world of Hogwarts. It was an odd feeling for the tall, lanky boy. Not odd in a bad way, but he felt as if time was going very quickly and then also very slowly.

The Great Hall was just as mysterious to him. Students with their tall pointy hats did make him laugh to himself, but only for a moment. Then when the line formed for the Sorting Ceremony he was hit with the nerves again. Wes looked around at the parallel tables of students and then to the one with the professors and such.

As the others were called, Wes felt as if time had stood still again. Waiting for the Ms felt like a lifetime. Eventually his name was called and his stomach felt like it turned into a bottomless pit while he stepped toward the professor and the hat. When he sat on the stool the hat fell down over his face. In that moment Wes thought of his future, his life, and what he wanted to do. Really though, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. The idea of being a footballer was something of the past. A doctor maybe, like his father? So that he could help people? Did he even know if Wizards had normal doctors and things? After the boy had been in his own head for a moment, he jumped a little when he heard the Sorting Hat yell, ”Gryffindor!”

The hat was pulled off and his eyesight started readjust to the room that was being filled with applause and hoots that came louder from one particular long table. He was ushered over and sat by some older boys who clasped him on the back and spoke as if he was whispering but he basically yelled it. ”Welcome to the best House! Trust me, you’ll love it!” After the Sorting finished Wes was able to relax some. The students made him feel at home and welcomed as there was much eating, chatting, and laughter. It was a mysterious day, but mystery does not need to be scary or bad.

The word came out before Cassian even had time to breathe.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

For a second, he just stopped. Not in some dramatic way, more like when something hits you so wrong that your brain takes a moment to figure out what you just heard. His chest tightened a little, almost like he swallowed something sharp. Then he forced his face back into the calm, blank look he was used to wearing around people. There was nothing about him that looked excited or proud. It was more like he shut everything off so no one could see what he was really thinking. He climbed down from the stool with this careful sort of control that made him look older than he was. His back stayed straight and his chin lifted a little. His expression did not change, but his eyes were another story. They were narrowed just enough to show that this result was the last thing he wanted.

The Gryffindor table burst into noise. People were cheering and waving him over like he was one of them already. Cassian did not smile or nod back. He walked toward them slowly, almost like he did not want to step any closer but refused to let anyone see that. When he reached the table, he did not sit with the rest of the new students. He moved to the empty end and sat there on purpose, leaving plenty of space between himself and the celebration. Anyone could tell by his posture that he did not want to talk. A boy nearby tried to inch closer, probably wanting to introduce himself. Cassian turned his head and gave him a look that was cool and sharp, the kind that made people back away without needing to say a word. The boy immediately froze and moved back to where he came from. Cassian felt a quiet satisfaction in that, even though his face stayed neutral.

Then he noticed the red on his robes. Gryffindor red. It felt wrong on him. Too bright, too loud, like someone threw paint on something that was supposed to stay dark and polished. His stomach twisted when he realized exactly how his family would react. Every Morvale before him had been a Slytherin. That was the expectation. That was the legacy. Now he was sitting there wearing scarlet like he had ruined the pattern. He turned his head slightly like he needed to clear his throat, but the nausea hit too fast. He quietly retched, not enough to make a scene but enough that a few students nearby recoiled and whispered to each other. Cassian wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up again. His face was pale, but his eyes were sharp enough to warn anyone from staring too long.

Inside, everything felt tangled and heavy.

Gryffindor. Of all things. This was not just surprising. It felt wrong. It felt like someone took his entire future and flipped it over without asking.

Still, Cassian was not the type to break down or start yelling. He would adjust. He always adjusted. If this was the hand he was given, then he would figure out how to turn it to his advantage. A Morvale was still a Morvale, no matter what color was stitched onto his robes. So he sat there at the end of the table, quiet and separate from the others. He looked like someone who had made it very clear that the Hat’s decision meant nothing about who he truly was. And sooner or later, the rest of the school would understand that too.

As Jrue wandered into the great hall, the dappled lights and banners looming above her made her spine tingle. The plain black robes on her shoulders felt so heavy and dense as she passed by rows of students in their colored robes. Like the buzzing of a fire, the crowds chatting and murmur left her ears feeling warm. As the group reached the front of the hall, she folded her hands down in front of her. She was in awe, not a word to say. The headmaster silenced the young students, and introduced the infamous magical item: The sorting hat. It was all happening so fast, she felt like she had no time to process… anything!

”Slytherin, like mom I hope… Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw…” Jrue read the banners, biting her thumbnail anxiously as the first student walked up to the podium. Not a moment passed before the hat yelled its answer. The students behind her erupted in excitement! Jrue flinched at the noise. School spirit was popular here, so it seemed. She went back to gazing at the walls and artwork before she heard it-

“Jrue Peterson”

Her fingers were numb. This was it, her defining make or break moment. This would determine how she spent the next seven years of her life. Her social interactions, her educational experience… everything.

Her feet felt like bricks of cement as she moved up to the solitary stool, and she sat down, her chest almost vibrating with anxiety. As the had was lowered on her head, she closed her eyes and held her breath.

“Hmm.. a Peterson. I remember your grandfather fondly. Bernard Boyle… a great Hufflepuff….”

A Hufflepuff? Had her mother lied to her about their ancestry? She swore that her bloodline had been all slytherin and ravenclaw..! Weren’t Hufflepuffs airy and timid? The hat paused then hummed softly.

“You’re strong willed and thoughtful like your mother but… caring, deep down. With an affinity for your avians, yes? And your sheep… like your own children. Yes, it makes sense to put you nowhere but….

HUFFLEPUFF!”

Jrue was stunned. The hat was plucked off her head and she was given a brief congratulations before she wandered off the short stage. A Hufflepuff jumped up and grabbed her by the hand. “Welcome, welcome! Gee, I remember when I was just a fresh little witch like you. Wow, five whole years ago! Hufflepuff is so glad to have you!” Rows of Hufflepuffs clapped and cheered, and she looked at them, not a word coming to her lips. She sat down, a platter appearing in front of her, napkins and glasses popping up right after, as if it were, well, since it was, magic.

As the energy settled down, she blinked into the present, air filling her lungs sharply. Had she held her breath? She looked around, the Hufflepuffs having forgotten about her and fallen back into chit chat. This was it. Her house. Her house. For the next seven years….

Boy she couldn’t wait to write her mother about this.

Callie stood nervously with the other first years. She looked around in awe at the Hall. IT was bigger and more beautiful than she imagined. She watched as kid after kid was sorted into their houses. She thought about her Sorting. Which house, and wether she'd make any friends. She was smart, but being in a house that wasn't Ravenclaw would be sad. Callie felt her anxiety take over, and twirled her necklace tentatively. Finally, her name was called, loud and clear.
'Jones, Calypso.'
Callie nervously stepped up and put the Hat on. Her thoughts swirled around her head and the Sorting Hat began.
'Qualities from all houses, I see...'
Please not Slytherin, Callie thought.
'Not Slytherin, eh? Well, then...'
The hat took an unusually long pause here, and Callie could feel the butterflies.
'Better be... RAVENCLAW!'
Callie breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to rhe Ravenclaw table and sat down.
She was sorted into Ravenclaw. Her mothers house. Her house. Her family. Her brothers and sisters. She thought of her mum and dad. How proud she would be to continue the line of Ravenclaws. Callie was still nervous. Who would she be friends with? Would anyone want to be friends with her? She shook her head and watched the Sortings. The tables around her filled up, and when the food appeared, the chattering began. She mustered her courage and turned to the person next to her.
'Hey, I'm Callie.'

Zephyr woke up before the sun, just like he always did back on their farm. The only difference was that today, it wasn’t about feeding chickens, gathering eggs, or helping his dad fix the fences. Today, he was going to Hogwarts, a school for witches and wizards. Even saying it out loud was dizzying. Hogwarts. He always thought of magic as stories, something found in books, something his mum read to him and his little sister, Zaria, at night. He saw the letter and was barely able to believe it was real. Wizards? Magic? Him? Somehow, it all made sense, yet it was impossible at the same time. He remembered the few times he did something he knew was magical. It had been last year when he was just 10. He was helping Zaria carry water from the well, and she dropped her bucket. It was heavy, and she began to cry, but it suddenly lifted. Slowly, in front of both of them, the bucket floated into her hands. Zephyr stared at it with his jaw open. His parents tried to stay calm, but he had seen the surprise in their eyes, especially his mother's. His father's reaction was brief, and then a knowing look settled in his features. That was when it all became real, that he had magical powers. He wasn’t just a normal boy from the farm anymore.

Since then, he had been preparing for this day. He packed his trunk himself, making sure he had everything, including a tiny toy Zaria had insisted on giving him, and a picture of the farm hidden in his book. He even brushed his light brown, messy hair, which he never really bothered with back home. Walking through the station had been overwhelming. He held tightly to his dad’s hands, afraid he might get lost in the crowd. When the Hogwarts Express finally appeared, his heart leapt. He couldn’t believe this was real. He said goodbye to his parents at the platform, giving them both a long hug, and assured them he would be okay. His dad ruffled his hair, and his mum wiped a tear from her eye. Zaria had hugged him so tight he thought she might never let go. The ride to Hogwarts had been a blur. He had stared out the window most of the time, just watching the countryside roll past. It reminded him of home, but on a grander scale and with a wilder feel. He was silent most of the time because talking to strangers wasn’t like helping a sheep or feeding the chickens.

The train stopped, then the boat ride and there it was, Hogwarts itself. It was massive and dark against the sky, with windows glowing like fireflies. His stomach twisted. It was beautiful, frightening, and real all at the same time. The Great Hall was louder than anything he had ever experienced. Candles were floating above their heads. His eyes went wide. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Four long tables were situated across the room, each filled with students in different coloured robes. He swallowed hard, trying not to feel out of place. When the Sorting Ceremony started, his heart thumped in his chest. Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor… he heard of all of them, but he had never imagined he would actually be in one. He thought about himself. Brave? Clever? Ambitious? Loyal? Hard working? Patient? He wasn’t sure what he was. Maybe all of those things in little pieces, but none really big enough to matter.

When his name was called, his legs trembled. He walked slowly and carefully, trying not to trip over the long robes that was strange and heavy on his skinny body. His heart raced as he sat down on the small stool. Then the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. He could hear a voice in his mind. “Ah… Zephyr. A quiet, hardworking boy. Loyal, patient, strong. You care for your family and your sister. You love the outdoors, animals and you are not used to asking for help, are you? You like to solve things yourself, to do what is right.” He swallowed hard. Yes, that’s true, he thought. I like helping. I like working hard. “You have courage too, though hidden.” the hat continued. “Not to seek attention, you face difficulties without complaint. You may be small, but you are strong in heart and body. You could do well in Hufflepuff… loyal, kind, patient. Or you could surprise yourself and try Gryffindor. You would need bravery and daring. Do you want that?” Zephyr thought of home, his parents, Zaria, the farm. He thought of all the mornings waking before sunrise, the hard work, the small joys of life. He didn’t need to be daring or heroic. He just wanted to belong, to find people who understood him and where he came from. “Hufflepuff...I want to belong there. I’ll do my best there.”

“Very well. You will be welcome there. You will do well. Hufflepuff!” Relief, joy, and a little nervousness flooded him all at once. He smiled shyly and walked toward the long table. He sat down, trying not to stare too much at the people there. His hands trembled, but not from fear but from excitement. Everything was new and different. But for the first time, he felt like he belonged. He was a farm boy from Swansea, a quiet, hardworking boy who liked animals, mornings, and simple things, and now he was a wizard. Hogwarts would be hard, he knew; it would all be strange, but he was ready to try. He looked at the older students and wondered what they thought of the first years. Would they be kind? Would they help him? He glanced at the candles floating above him and then at the enchanted ceiling. It seemed impossible that all of this was real, and yet, it was.

For the first time, Zephyr let himself imagine the future, flying on his broomstick across the grounds, practicing charms, helping others, making friends, and maybe, one day, even exploring the castle’s secrets. He thought of Zaria, and how she would be excited when he told her about everything. He thought of his parents, hoping they would be proud. Hogwarts could be just another place full of small joys if he worked for them. Smiling to himself, he couldn't deny, he was happy. He was Zephyr Deakin, Hufflepuff, first year, and his Hogwarts journey had just begun for him.

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His eyes were wide, scanning the room nonstop. Everywhere he looked, there was something new to see. Rhys was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed. His home life had been just his mother and father, with the occasional worker or visit with the extended family. Being surrounded by dozens, maybe hundreds, of young people all chattering and excited was a lot. He was trying to take it all in, and in reality, took in very little of it.

He'd heard about the hall from his cousins, but hearing was nothing like being there.

He heard the chatter slow to a stop, and then tried very hard to focus on the speech the Headmaster was giving. It shocked him a bit when the Sorting Hat began to interact... to sing. His surname is in the first third of the alphabet, so he got called up relatively early in the process. He was shaking as he walked up the aisle, but when he faced the crowd he forced a smile onto his face.

Never let them see you sweat, son. Always be confident. Especially when you're afraid. His father's voice had been calm, but intense. The senior Mr. Gwyn often met with ministry staff, and he wanted Rhys to learn how to interact with stress early.

Sitting down, Rhys waited for the hat to land on his brow. When it landed, he was surprised at how soft it felt. Then he felt the strange sensation of something in his mind with him. So, what do we have here? I see a long line of pure blood. A mother who knows the earth. A father who wields words in the halls of power. Perhaps a secret? Perhaps. What drives this young one? A deep need for praise. Recognition. Ambition. There we are... you, Rhys Gwyn, belong in- "SLYTHERIN!"

There were cheers, a few sounded sarcastic, but the table with the green detailing all seemed genuine. As he walked, his robes shifted from their basic blacks to having green piping and the Slytherin crest. His face felt like it was going to split from the grin on his face. He was a Slytherin.

His older cousin Rhodry was in Hufflepuff. Rhys thought he'd seen him earlier, but from his new place at the Slytherin table, he wasn't visible anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Rhys decided to jump into this new adventure.

Jean felt overwhelmed by the thought of so many wizards and witches in a single room; the whole school seemed to be in attendance. At the entrance to the Great Hall, she had even shaken the hand of what she assumed to be professor, whose imposing figure sported a suit of armor. Although looking slightly tired, he had given her a good-natured smile.

Being tall for her age had its benefits. That thought shot through Jean's head as she could see the layout of the so-called Great Hall. A stream of 11-year-olds made their way to the podium at the end of the room, where a small, unassuming stool stood. Whispers went through the room before total silence fell. The door to the hall closed with a bang.

A remarkable silence reigned for the duration it took the armored man to stride from one side of the room to the other. Once on the podium, he unrolled a seemingly endless scroll over the floor. An old, brown witch hat was placed on the stool. Suddenly, words appeared in the air and the hat began to sing. Jean whispered along.

The list's alphabetical order put Jean at very nearly the top of the list. Great, she thought. The tension is killing me.

When her name was called, Jean pushed her way to the front of the group. As she stumbled up to the podium, she heard some nervous laughter from behind her. Crouching slightly to appear smaller, she took a seat on the stool. The hat was the talkative sort, for it began to whisper into her mind.

Right. A creative one, that is certain. But oh, so insecure.

"Thanks," Jean said under her breath.

Ah, yes, there is definitely a fire burning in you. But what set the flame?

Jean thought of her brother, Dean: how he helped her stand up to bullies and not get lost in her own head. But most of all, he taught her to keep at her passion for art.

Are you sure? Plenty of desire for glory can be found in this head of yours... No?

"RAVENCLAW!" The hat bellowed.

“Daniels, Timothy!”

His feet didn't move. His legs felt rooted to the stone floor.

Come on. He told himself. Shaking his hands slightly. They're just students. It's just a hat. He stepped forward, cheeks warming as he imagined all the eyes following him.

The stool felt terribly small. Timothy had shot up several inches over the summer and still wasn't quite used to everything being lower down than he expected. He gripped the stool, trying not to wobble. Long legs awkwardly folded at the ankles.

The hall was silent. Even the candles seemed to still.

Headmaster Lear silently lowered the Sorting hat onto Timothy's head, where it immediately slid down over his brow, then further pitching him into the darkness inside the hat, warm and faintly musty, like an old library.

"Hmmm..." said a dry, whispery voice in his ear. "Daniels eh. I remember your father.. full of curiosity that one. And your mother, oh yes she was very capable. But you Timothy... What have we here?"

Timothy swallowed. Hello? he thought, trying to work out if he needed to speak aloud or if the hat would hear him anyway.

"There is no need to speak." the hat murmured cheerfully. "Your mind is quite clear to me. You seem very anxious."

I'm fine! Just.. Nervous

"Nervous," the hat repeated slowly "But not afraid! Interesting difference that."

Timothy straightened slightly on the stool. I just want to.. Understand things properly. Why do spells work? Why do you work? What do the runes mean?

"Aah" the hat breathed, sounding pleased. "A hungry mind and a steady one. You certainly have bravery and loyalty, and indeed a touch of ambition though you don't seem ready to admit that to yourself yet. But we both know where you will be seated this evening don't we Timothy."

Timothy's heart thudded faster. Please don't put me somewhere I'll be awful.

"Awful?" The hat barked a laugh so loud Timothy feared others had heard and thought the hat was laughing at him. "you'll not be awful anywhere. But there is a place for you hear in the castle where you'll find the puzzle pieces you crave. Where a boy who loves runes and hates nicknames might thrive exceedingly well."

Timothy held his breath

"Yes," the hat decided firmly. "Best make it-RAVENCLAW!"

The last word rang out through the hall. The hat was lifted from Timothy's head, and he blinked at the sudden light. Applause and cheers, even a few whistles rose from the Ravenclaw table.

Timothy stepped down from the stool on slightly trembling legs. But as he walked toward his new house table, something warm spread through his chest.