Sorting Ceremony 2025 - 2026

The first expression Johannes got when he walked in too the Great hall after the trip over the lake was that the room was the biggest he had ever seen. He walked and stood up in a line ready too hear his name get called up. First the Head Master had a long speach but then the sorting cermony started. He sat down got more and more ansious for each student went forward. The students that got called out before him got in too all the houses Slythering, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Griffinfor. Johannes slowly walked forward when he heard his name get called. His slowly started getting ansious about with House he was going too get, he slowly put the someting har on too of his head, ”Hm” the hat Said ”With house should i put you in too” ”I know it screamed out, Slytherin” Evrywone from slytherin stood up and started aploding. He walked too the table and sat down on the seas next too some other slytherin students. Hello he asked out, seing if he could find another year one student too talk with. He fealt really happy to have gotten a House a good house also, it was Slytherin.

If Nick had one word to describe his feelings, it would be anxiety. And perhaps a second word, confusion.

His leg bounced vigorously during the whole boat trip to the massive, may he say, terrifyingly gargantuan castle in the distance, and his eyes couldn't decide where he should be focusing on. Was it on the equally nervous children sitting around him in the boat, or the deep, mysteriously dark water they sailed through.

This will be fine... He thought to himself. I'll be just fine...

But words were only that at that point, the experience was much more than that.
When he stepped out of the boat, and tripped on his own robes for a couple of seconds before hastily following along with the other kids, he was basically pushed and pulled into this wave of people, trying to form some type of orderly line as they reached the large heavy doors.

I don't think I would be able to push those anyway... He tried to make himself better that way.

Nicholas was too far in the back to touch them, some other kids at the front pushed the doors open and the large man in armor came into frame.
He had to admit he jumped when the man finally spoke and introduced himself as the headmaster himself, Solomon Lear.

That's a pretty name... I wonder who named him... If anyone at all... His thoughts moved along like a soft wave, before being abruptly cut by his own feet tripping over another student.

A couple of awkward sorries and he was inside the most grand place he had ever seen. The walls so vast and so beautifully sculpted, he truly believed himself in a piece of art. Perhaps some ancient poem itself given structure.

What he didn't expect was the explanations given by the headmaster himself. The idea of sorting himself into only one of four houses felt... oddly unfit for him.

Never once did Nicholas see himself as cunning, or as brave and bold. Not even once has he seen himself worthy of a single title, or a label that would keep him tied to a place and a place only.
What if it says I am... none? What if it says I am not worthy of being here? What if the hat looks be in the eyes and simply shakes its leather like i am just a straggler that doesn't fit?



Nick flinched when his thoughts were broken by that simple call, and his head snapped back up when he finally noticed he was the next one in line.

As much as he wanted to run and hide, to pretend he wasn't terrified out of his mind, he took a deep breath and went forward. Sitting down and closing his eyes when the hat was placed on his head.

The hat hummed and grumbled, talking to a kid who was definitely too deep into his own mind to truly understand his words.

- Well... I declare then... Ravenclaw!!

Nicholas sighed in relief, at least he was in a house now, but the silence was broken again by the applauses from one of the tables, the ravenclaws welcoming their new colleague as Nicholas rushed to sit with them. He could worry some more later, right now, he was eyeing the food.

The only way Bran could describe his first glimpse of the Great Hall was magical. That had been his impression of the whole castle so far, and he didn't think he was being trite with his description. This, he reflected, must be like what Muggles felt seeing magic for the first time - awed, humbled, and hungry. Now more than ever in his bookish childhood he wanted to learn. How had the founders enchanted the ceiling? The cranking suit of armor that had sharply saluted them as they'd passed, what spell had animated it? They said the grand staircase moved - how?

But first, before he can even begin to imagine the search for answers, he has to face that.

For all that they were gathered around a harmless, dingy, threadbare old hat, at that moment it was somehow the most intimidating presence in the room.

All the noisy chatter in the hall seems to dim for Bran, becoming nothing more than a dull roar in his ears. His focus is locked on one of the wizarding world’s great mysteries, the sentient - and intelligent, as it so firmly adds - Hat that can delve into a person’s innermost thoughts and desires.

As the Headmaster - armored and with a voice that boomed, like one of the kings in the old fantasies - begins to call his classmates, Bran can't help but to remember this morning’s conversation with his father.

”So? Where do you think you’ll be sorted?” His father had set a cup of tea down before him, sliding it between Bran’s plate of toast and his drumming fingers. “The family standard? Or a surprise?”

“Probably Slytherin. It just feels right,” Bran muttered, taking up the cup where he couldn’t convince himself to eat even a nibble of toast. Then he paused, considering. He did love his books, and learning how magic worked at the basest level had always drawn him. “Or maybe Ravenclaw…?”

“I’ve known many great witches and wizards of Ravenclaw,” his father started, but Bran was already shaking his head.

“No, I don’t think it’ll be Ravenclaw.”

“Well, wherever you end up, you’ll be joining at least one well-respected ancestor, so don’t fret overmuch. You should eat something, you know, it’s a long trip.”

Now, standing here, hearing Headmaster Lear’s voice boom down the scant few ‘A’s before him, Bran just knew which table he’d be joining.

“Aderyn, Bran!”

The call of his name snaps him out of his thoughts, and to a small chorus of “Good luck! and “See you on the other side!” from the few peers who he hadn’t managed to scare off, he makes his way up the dias. To the stool. To the Sorting Hat.

After a polite nod for the Headmaster - and Bran had to keep himself from taking a second look at the man, who looked far more worn now that Bran was close than he had from across the hall - he takes his seat, closing his eyes in anticipation as the Hat gently settles on his head.

For a moment, silence.

And then -

“Ah. Another one of you,” a gentle, whispering voice murmurs in his ear. “I feel it has been some time since one of you has come here to roost.”

It wasn’t a question, and Bran had nothing to offer, but it got its response nonetheless. A lightning-fast jolt of emotion and memory of family - a warm cup of tea, a rustle of wings in the mews, the uncomfortable distance and longing where another should have been. The Hat listens quietly, feeding on the thoughts like a man tasting the finest treats, before it stirs itself again.

“This saddens me. It is never easy, losing what we should have and what should have been.” For a moment, Bran almost feels like he sees something in return, a gifted memory of excitement and possibility, a different Hall and a different future and different dreams. “But in absence grows opportunity. Will you be brave and bold, striding ahead of the rest in memory of those we left behind? Or are you the sort to let loss turn you gentle and understanding, a kind refuge for others? Ambitious and proud, perhaps? To live up a legacy? Then again, maybe you will let letters and words comfort you as you unravel why. What do you think…? Oh, I see, yes…”

As the Hat whispered, he felt it, the way parts of him flinched at some options, embraced others. Before he could even think up a response, it was speaking again, dragging him right along in its wake.

“And how will you reach this goal? How will you climb this path laid before yourself? Will you loudly proclaim your successes and your triumphs to all who will listen? Or will you let your work stand for itself, a silent testament to your knowledge and cunning for those who have the wit to see it for themselves? Ahh, indeed.”

Again, he barely had to think, felt his would-be response get snatched from his mind like an insect hunted on the wing.

“And if you cannot see the way forward? How will you find your way back? Trust your fate in others? No, that isn’t you. Your own strengths and wits will be your guide. Yes, I understand. And I see now, so do you.”

Bran almost asked. He feels the question burning through him, but the quiet gravity and understanding he felt radiating from the Hat made him hesitate instead.

“Yes, you’ve seen the result already, as have I. But it’s never a good policy to take intuition at face value, is it? Now, then, go join your House, little bird!


The Hat’s voice, satisfied and smug, booms across the Hall, to the cheers of the table decked in silver and deep green and, perhaps, a jeer or two from elsewhere. Bran was deaf to it, though, an unexpected smile stealing across his lips, a sudden happiness welling in his chest, as the Hat was lifted from his head.

Yes, Slytherin was where he belonged.

Turning to join his House for the very first time, Bran nodded a silent thanks at the Headmaster - and, privately, thought a thankful farewell towards the raggedy scrap of fabric in his hand.

He could never be sure, after, if the Hat had winked, or if it had just been a trick of the light.

September 1st, 2025

Performance was not Edlyn’s specialty, but when confronted with other people, unfamiliar people, people who didn’t know her, she felt the need to put on a show.

Keeping her face still, calm, collected, she had the appearance as if she would scoff at any moment at the flickering voices around her. Eyes focused forward, biting her bottom lip, muscles relaxed, she took on the role of a seasoned Hogwarts veteran, a girl for whom the various novelties of the castle were no stranger. And they weren’t. Not really. Not in the way the muggleborns around her likely experienced them, the way one would have had they never seen an object float, much less communicate with them. Edlyn had plenty of secondhand Hogwarts knowledge – she knew her mother was a Gryffindor, her father a Hugglepuff, and every now and again she’d hear a reference to the school from them – but she had to admit, being there in person was another ball game.

As hard as she put on her show, when the large doors opened up to the Great Hall, her eyes betrayed her, and that characteristic first-year sparkle crossed her face. Sucking in a breath, feeling almost surreal to be breathing in that air of greatness, of legacy, her eyes feasted. Previously looking forward in familiarity, settled, calm eyes began to dart back and forth. The tables filled with older students in their robes, she could see the colored crests and characteristic ornamentations that defined people by their houses. Little specks of red and gold, green and silver, yellow and black, blue and bronze dappling each respective table. Lit candles hovered above them, not particularly impressive in themselves, but in their number, glistening and flickering like stars in the sky, almost too many for her mind to keep up with. As hard as Edlyn tried, she couldn’t shake off the wonder that she, ultimately, portrayed, and she fell from her perch of composure and melded into the swarm of similarly awed first-years.

The crowd began to hush, murmurs drifting off into silence, Edlyn realized she almost forgot what happens when you first arrive at Hogwarts. The sorting. Falling in the middle of the crowd, Edlyn craned her neck, peeking through a gap in the heads in front of her to rest her gaze upon the star of this evening. That wrinkled hat. Her father told her that that thing knew him better than he knew himself. Convinced he’d be a Ravenclaw for his dedication to his studies, it discovered a loyalty within him, and his commitment to his academics was more than the desire for knowledge, but for the unveiling of truth and honesty.

As the names began to be rattled off, Edlyn’s gaze unfocused as she began to ponder no longer her fantastic surroundings, but instead her fate. She hasn’t put too much thought into her house before. Of course, there was that glimmer of curiosity, her mind drifting every once in a while to wonder where she may end up, but there was no expectation thrust upon her, nor a real preference to be had. Her perception of self stretched far past the house stereotypes. There’s been great Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins. She could imagine doing well in any.

“Ward, Edlyn.”

She perked up, perhaps a little too startled for her liking. As she shifted her way through bodies, every step feeling just as distinct as the last, she made her way to the front. She could feel eyes on her and, as she turned around to place herself on the stool, she faced that crowd of eyes. Looking at each of the tables, taking in the people there, she couldn’t help but wonder – do any of them think I belong there? While it was the Sorting Hat’s call, she still wondered if anyone out there was predicting correctly.

Her head felt oddly light as the Hat was placed over her head. I don’t, really, mind. Why am I so nervous all of a sudden?

“Don’t mind, eh?” hummed the Hat.

Although she knew, conceptually, the Hat looked into your mind, she was still off put at the response to her own thoughts. She suddenly felt very exposed, unsettled with the way it could pry into her. Her thoughts were, normally, a stronghold. A place she was safe to express herself, make mistakes, ponder and be wrong. She didn’t appreciate the breach.

“Hmm… so you’re a thinker. You would fit well in with those Ravenclaws, they find much comfort in the mind…”

Eugh. She hated how it could respond to that too.

“I see… intelligent, yes, of course, but daring, too. I sense a strong will in this one… perhaps Gryffindor may be more apt?”

Like my mother, she thought.

“Yes… but you are very unlike her. Daring, intelligent… but laced with a certain… cunning. You have very lofty goals, I can see. Yes… yes… I know where to put you.”

Body braced, eyes searching around the room, she locked eyes with the Slytherin table just before the word slipped out of the Hat’s mouth, thunderous and deep for the hall to hear.


One of the long tables burst into applause, cheering and whooping resounding through the Hall. It didn’t take any great insight to figure out that it was Slytherin who were applauding. Edlyn couldn’t help but smile, lips pursed and attempting to hold it back, but smiling nonetheless. Relief coursed through her as the Hat was taken off her head and she made her way to the Slytherin table, steps ingrained with a little more confidence than before. She came in without a real preference, but she couldn’t deny it, it felt good to have her house. Her community, her pride. She knew she’d be herself regardless of what the Hat had said, regardless of whether she slept in the dungeons or in Ravenclaw Tower, but to see that crowd of people clap for her, to know she was now one of them – that kind of reassurance, that kinship, was certainly a comfort.

wc: 1013

Hitsugaya entered the Great Hall with all the other first years students. He admired the night sky that was on the ceiling. There was so much candles floating in the air he could not believe his eyes. He saw al the the students with black robes sitting at the table. Hitsugaya stand in front the podium where the big hat was on top a chair. We first was called one by one by the headmaster so the he can placed the Sorting hat on our heads to determine which house we belongs too. After few students was called it was finally Hitsugaya's turn to be sorted into his Hogwarts house. He name called and he walked and looked and felt scared when sit down. The sorting Hat was place on top his head and sorting hat said" Aww a great and powerful mind but very ambition within side. I feel that you are very well gifted and have much magical talent. I know exactly were to place you BETTER BE GRYFFINDOR!!!!!!!!

Hitsugaya was feeling So relieved After hearing the sorting hat place him in Gryffindor. He really didn't wanted to placed in Slytherin House due that they bad characteristics. Hitsugaya taken his seat in the great hall by the rest of the other Gryffindor's.

Brighton was so excited when he had received his Hogwarts letter and his father was so proud of him. Brighton had grown up in Aberfeldy, a small wizarding village where his father worked as an Auror patrolling the region and his mother owning a wizarding bookshop. Growing up, Brighton had learned about the wizarding world but he never had a chance to actually use magic. Well, that was until the incident at the bookshop but that was just a freak accident…wasn’t it?

After shopping in Diagon Alley and eventually riding the famous Hogwarts Express, Brighton couldn’t believe the fact that he was standing here, right in the center of the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! His father had walked this very aisle many years ago when he was a Gryffindor student. Brighton’s mother, however, was not as blessed but she had the honor of walking through Beauxbatons as she was a student of the French wizarding school.

Brighton was very curious about everything, his eyes flashed from the candles that floated graciously above his and his classmates heads. The four rows of tables where students of all four houses sat, gazing and gawking at the first years that came into the hall. Brighton was in the center group of first years, full of their own background histories that he himself had.

Looking forward, he saw the Headmaster, Solomon Lear, and immediately, Brighton froze ever so slightly. It was one thing to shop in Diagon Alley and ride the Hogwarts Express but now he’s about to be called upon to go sit at the front of the entire hall, on a stool, putting on an aged hat to become sorted into one of the four houses. Brighton had always wanted to be in Gryffindor because of his father, but he was curious to see where he would be actually placed. His family was full of Hogwarts graduates from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. There had yet to be a Ravenclaw or Slytherin student in the family.

“Harper, Brighton” his name rang and it was time to step forward. His feet felt glued to the floor but he pried them up and went to the stool.

Brighton sat upon the stool and the hat was placed upon his head. He could hear a raspy voice in his ears.

“Ah yes, a Harper...” said the Sorting Hat. “I have seen many of your family, hailing from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. But you…”

Brighton’s cheeks went red. “Yes, that’s right.” His voice was quiet. How odd would it be if others would watch him talk to himself.

“You have a spirit of adventure and are loyal at heart,” the Sorting Hat continued. “However, you have a ready mind.”

“Where are you going to put me? Gryffindor?” Brighton whispered.

“Gryffindor? Much like your father I see but there is something more I sense. Better be…” and the Sorting Hat paused. With a booming voice, the Hat shouted “RAVENCLAW!”

Brighton felt as though his heart stopped but when he heard the crowd of the Ravenclaw table erupted with cheer and Brighton beamed. Maybe it was alright that he didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor. After all, Brighton was now the first in his family to be sorted into Ravenclaw!

WC: 543

Taliesin hadn't been sure what she had been expecting really when they had arrived, but each new moment had consumed her imagination more than the last. She couldn't help but forget herself as her head craned back, shuffling in a small circle to take in all the wonders that was the Great Hall as they were herded inside. Portraits twittering and whispering amongst themselves, the ceiling disappeared into an endless night as candled floated about to illuminate the room in warmth.

When she had come to pass Headmaster Lear, her training finally came back to her as she tried her best to school her face and offer a polite curtsy; just as Madam had instructed. Though her attempt fell a bit short, perfect curtsy aside, she couldn't help but stare wide-eyed up at the Headmaster as he towered over the children in all his gold, gleaming glory and she couldn't help but liken him to some old king that she would've heard about in one of Nanny's bedtime stories.

Finally catching herself that she was staring, she felt her face heat before scurrying off, following the group of First Years further into the room as they assembled.

Through all the speeches and song, Taliesin struggled to keep herself still, nails digging nervously into her hands to squash the impulse to fidget. Her mind wandered on and off as she snuck looked at all the different tables and through the cast of Heads of House, wondering where she was going to find herself. Her father had been Slytherin, she knew, but her mother attended Beauxbatons, according to Nanny and Madam. Nanny had once mentioned that when she had been a student at Hogwarts, she'd been a Hufflepuff; and Taliesin couldn't help but think if she found herself in that house, she wouldn't mind.

"Taliesin Annwyn!"

Her head snapped forward at the call of her name, and before she quite registered it, she found herself moving towards the dias. The child's mind flickered through all her training; straight back, lift your chin, eyes forward, don't let your emotions show on your face.. She could handle this.

Taliesin put all her focus into steadying her breathing before she took her place on the stool, trying not to tense in nervousness as the hat was placed on her head, "Ah, the Annwyn legacy carries on, I see..." the hat mused to itself.

"Yes." she confirmed, surprised how steady her voice came out.

Steady or not, it seemed the hat truly could see through her, "A reticent one..." the hat drawled thoughtfully.

Please... please, she thought, just put me where ever I can bring the most honor and pride to my family, she thought to the hat.

"So alike your predecessors; creative and curious. You've created whole worlds of possibilities within your mind. You'd go far in Ravenclaw...."

Anything to prove myself as their daughter...

"Or perhaps not quite..." The hat seemed to consider her for a moment, shifting and humming as it weighed it's decision on her, "Determination and self-discipline can be a virtue... yes, you are quite determined to make yourself someone worthy of notice. Indeed, an unmistakable flame of pride, waiting to be fanned into a blaze." the hat sounded pleased with itself as it seemed to come to a decision, "Its clear the house for young Annwyn is..."

Taliesin pressed her lips into a tight line.



The young witch hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath until she finally gasped at the announcement. Her bright eyes flickered to the table of green and silver that cheered to have another among their ranks as she was directed off the dias towards what would be her new home for the next seven years. She could feel her heart pounding her in ears with the excitement of it all as the cheering eventually settled as the next child took their turn.

Father had been a Slytherin, she thought. Hopefully it would please him to know she'd secured her place there as he had.

Date: 01 September 2025
Time: Evening
Location: Great Hall, Hogwarts


Livia entered the Great Hall alongside a multitude of first years, some small, some tall like her, some taking up more space than the boat they'd come here in. Many of the children offered tittering chatter while others heaved deep breaths and still others stared up at the enchanted ceiling with wide eyes and smiles. Although she entered with the masses, Livia stood with her shoulders back and her gaze onwards. The vaulted ceilings and the portraits lining the hall only served to provide the immature atmosphere of a school cafeteria with a hint of structured decorum; many of the new students gazed up at the ceiling and walls in awe. Livia, however, continued to stare forward, her upturned green eyes scrutinising the seat at the front of the room, on which sat a hat.

The hat was something wrinkled, old, something that nearly keeled over off of its very seat. The headmaster near it mirrored its appearance but stood taller, shone brighter—the armour was an odd touch, but perhaps necessary, given the rowdiness of some of the youths. Livia deigned to listen to the speech, the song, but she gave her focus to her vision and continued to eye various spots in the large room. Whichever table seemed to be the most prim and proper. Which students did not yell or shove. Where in the room the food looked the most appetising.

The fickle, amplified chatter of the first-years did nothing to tamp down the ferocity of the hat's song. By the time it was done, though, the students quieted—an intrigue, truly, that caused Livia to feel for her wand. The stick did not yet fit properly in her hand; she wrapped her fingers around it tighter and felt her lips pull downwards into a small frown. It did not take much time before she forced her expression back into submission, already hearing her mother's chastising inside her mind.

What luck it was, then, that she was called up shortly after. She strolled to the dais and slowly sat, ensuring her legs were not crossed, folding her hands in her lap.



Livia went rigid. She refused to answer the hat, the only movement from her being a small tapping of her index finger against her wand. However, the hat took the silence for an answer and made a loud hum inside her head.



'Shut up.' The words came out quickly, soft, raspy, her lips hardly moving. To any onlookers she might have looked like a doll that had just sat there, staring ahead of her blankly, her eyes like marbles. But the hat knew. Of course the hat knew. 'They don't define me. You don't know anything.' The movement of her mouth was more obvious now, although her words were still hushed, meant for herself and the hat and no other.



The hat was quiet for a moment, but then it added:



Livia stood—a joint in her ankle popped, her spine cracked and she reached her arms out in front of her in a lazy, catlike stretch before the cheering finally registered with her. She stood, blinked, stared out at the sea of students before her. Applause had always eluded her; even now, she thought of her brother, the golden child, and swallowed—this was not right. Nonetheless, despite her discomfort, she would do as the students before her had, albeit with stilted motions. Like a marionette on a string, Livia ambled down to the Slytherin table and nested herself alongside the other students, even if her gaze did catch on a familiar head of blonde hair. Although tempted to take a seat next to her cousin, Livia instead sat between two complete strangers. For now, she would sit back and observe—it was better for her to learn the rules of this place than to become complacent too quickly.

Evening of Monday the 1st of September 2025

Stephen stands huddled amongst the throng of first-year students, all awaiting their turns to be sorted, hushed whispers can be heard both amongst the new students and from the four long house tables. Suddenly, the headmaster stands from his seat as a three-legged stool is brought and placed in the center of the raised platform, on which the staff table resides. On the seat of the stool, an ancient-looking hat is placed. The headmaster, an imposing-looking man with gray hair and stormy eyes, clad in shining armor, steps behind the stool, holding a long scroll in one hand. He clears his throat and begins to address the sea of faces before him. Professor Lear welcomes the students and explains the procedure of the Ceremony, and after a few quibbles with the animated hat, he falls silent. The room hums with anticipation as the older students stare transfixed at the ratty old hat that sits upon the stool. Suddenly, a tear opens near the brim, where the hat had been talking from earlier, and it begins to sing.

Stephen looks astonished at the hat as it begins to sing. He is delighted and intrigued by the song as it illuminates the rich history of the four houses. As the hat makes mention of Ravenclaw house, his ears perk up as this was the house that his mother had belonged to. He listens intently as the hat lays out what attributes are sought in Ravenclaw, and lets out a sigh of relief as he believes that his eagerness to learn will suit him quite well to join the ranks of his mother's house.

Once the sorting hat finishes its song, the hall erupts in applause, and the hat takes a few nodding bows from its place on the stool. The hat falls still again as the headmaster straightens, his armor making a bit of a clanking noise as he moves. He holds up his scroll of parchment and begins to announce names. One by one, the first-year students are called up to the platform, they take a seat on the stool, and the sorting hat is placed upon their heads. After a few moments of deliberation, the sorting hat opens its tear and calls out the name of one of the four houses. Stephen stands waiting for his turn for quite a while as his surname is quite late in the alphabet, but after a while, his name is finally called. "Ross, Stephen" exclaims the headmaster, with a slight jump. Stephen makes his way up the few steps to stand upon the platform, he takes his seat upon the stool, and the headmaster places the hat on his head.

Once the hat is placed upon his head, Stephen hears the chiming voice of the Sorting Hat as it speaks in his mind. "Hmmm, a curious lad... an interest in stories and learning. Yes, very suitable, I believe you will do well in..." "RAVENCLAW!" This last part, the hat calls out for the assembled body to hear, as soon as Stephen hears the hat's proclamation, a great big smile splits his face, feeling excited and proud to be placed in the same house as his mother, whom he admires dearly.

He heads down and takes a seat at the table bedecked with a massive blue table runner, embroidered with a decorative, glittering bronze edging. He takes a seat next to some fellow first-year Ravenclaw students and watches the finale of the Ceremony. The headmaster, slightly winded from the length of the list of new students, thanks the assembly for their patience and, with a creaky bow, bids the mass to dig in. With gusto and fervor, the students begin plating up food and having a joyous time chatting and filling their aching stomachs after such a long ceremony. The night is spent in good company with much laughter and merrymaking until finally, after the puddings clear from the tables, the headmaster stands once more and bids the students good night, during which time he advises the first years to follow their Prefects which he designates for each house as they will be leading them to their house common rooms or the evening, he advises them all to get plenty of rest as classes are set to begin in the morning.

Aislin had grown up hearing about the Sorting Ceremony, pestering her mam for an explanation of how exactly the hat worked (she didn't know, and neither did the aunts, uncles, and grandparents she followed up with), and in recent years receiving excited reports of which houses her cousins had been sorted into. She knew what it was and so shared none of the fear on some of the faces around her; besides, finding out firsthand was part of the fun. Though maybe not if you didn't know the Sorting Hat had no history of giving people lice.

There were a lot of them and they moved slowly into the Great Hall, slow enough that she started to look a bit antsy, too. The shuffle barely counted as not standing still, and the singular good news for her was that she was close to the start of the alphabet. Not quite tall enough to see over her peers, even if she had a few inches on a number of them, she settled for staring at backs of heads and eventually waving at the Headmaster. He had armor, and she couldn't help but stare at it as she passed. Did all Headmasters get armor? Was that another tradition?

Inside the Great Hall, there was more too look at, a lot more going on. She didn’t care about the ceiling, swirling with a replicated night sky. It was interesting, she guessed, from the way many of the kids around her looked up at it like it was an undiscovered frog species or a complete account of what lived in the Mariana Trench. It was probably really complicated magic, maybe something worth looking into on a slow day. But Aislin wasn’t looking at it now because she was looking at people’s shoes. Hogwarts had uniforms, black robes and currently black pointed hats, but no standardized shoe, and so that was where the personality was. People wore their favorite shoes for the first day of a new year, probably. That’s what she was doing, her pair of brown boots with double-knotted purple laces (she liked the old olive green ones better, but they'd worn through). She picked out pops of other people's colorful laces, fancy dress shoes, shoes she’d never seen in any witch’s clothing store, shiny brand new shoes and shoes that were obviously favorites by how worn they were. And as long as she was looking at shoes, she wasn’t thinking about how this might be the most people that had ever looked at her all at once. Not that she found that scary. Just... different.

Then the first years were crowding around the front and it was back to staring at someone's hair, sort of trying and definitely failing to pay attention to the speech (her thoughts drifted to the Great Lake; she'd thought about this a lot on the train, what kind of different creatures it would have compared to the lakes in Ireland), and then waiting to hear her name called.

Only when she stepped up to the stool and the hat did she really second guess what she wanted out of this. She'd thought about it before, of course; she and her cousins used to talk about what house they might be sorted into one day, what kind of escapades they'd pull off once they got there. Not that making her mind up mattered at this point; she hopped up onto the stool, swinging her legs around a bit, and felt the old hat settle over her head. "Hello?" she whispered, because she knew the hat talked to you and so she should probably talk to it, too.

Another Darragh, it said back. Or not said, really, it wasn't verbal. A thought added into the stream of her thoughts? There must be a lot for the Sorting Hat to wade through, unless it had some way of sorting to relevant, trait-related sections rather than the mini encyclopedia she had on worm biology. You're very curious, aren't you? You take after the rest of them, all of you committed to some knowledge or another.

There's lots of things to know, she agreed, trying instead to think it very loudly this time. The hat continued, so she couldn't really tell if it had worked. Hmm, there's resourcefulness. Not so much ambition, though, as your mother had, that curiosity is too fluid in its direction. And you've never been as courageous as your cousins.

She bounced her leg, looked up at the enchanted ceiling. I think I'm probably a Ravenclaw. That was what she usually came to when she thought about it. Wanting was a different thing--she kind of wanted to be with her cousins, and neither of them were Ravenclaws--but she'd heard the hat's spiel in its little song and all the iterations of the same explanation before that.

You are very much like your father. Creative, open-minded, intelligent. Only, he cared a good deal more about what people think than you do. Aislin stiffened, pressing her palms into her knees. She knew her father was a Ravenclaw, that he had an interest in astronomy and a complicated relationship with his Muggle parents, that he had left, and that her mam was still sad about him sometimes. That was about it. She took in the new descriptors like soil to water, and forgot to think about Houses. No louder than a breath, she asked, "You knew him. What was he like?"

I did, but that is not relevant to the time we have here. I have seen what I need to see. She was halfway to arguing that it should consider longer. She could be a Slytherin like her mam, it should see the dedication and drive she could have to find the answers, to push the barriers of some knowledge, to pester it until it told her more, but the hat shifted above her, brim-and-tear-formed mouth bellowing out, "RAVENCLAW!"

The little disappointed dip in the corner of her mouth had nothing to do with the house--it fit, she and the Sorting Hat agreed. She just wished she could have talked to it for longer, but there was still a sea of students to get through, a mix of all sorts of shoes that would be divided into four, and so she followed the loudest cheers to sit down. Her cousins were cheering somewhere in the room, and later they would help her write home to share the news: she was a Ravenclaw, like her uncle (like her father).