“Susan Bones—Hufflepuff!”

  “Justin Finch-Fletchley—Hufflepuff!”

  Inside the grand, ornately decorated hall, a wrinkled old hat sat atop a stool, its wide, mouth-like opening babbling away as it twisted and jiggled in an oddly animated manner. Every now and then, it would let out strange bursts of ughter when mischievous young witches and wizards tugged at its brim.

  As name after name was called and assigned to their respective houses, appuse echoed through the hall—some enthusiastic, others half-hearted.

  At least during the welcoming feast, even Gryffindors and Slytherins, who usually couldn't stand each other, maintained a sembnce of harmony.

  The first-years waiting to be sorted below the ptform watched with a mix of nerves and excitement as others donned the Sorting Hat, listening to its strange commentary before heading to their new house tables.

  But among the crowd of new students stood a slender boy who looked completely out of pce. He stared bnkly at the vish, antique decorations, the floating candles flickering like starlight in the enchanted ceiling above. Transparent ghosts drifted overhead, glowing faintly. Everything was so surreal, so overwhelming, that the boy couldn’t process it all at once.

  After a long moment, he murmured to himself, “Who am I? Where am I? What the hell is going on?”

  “Wait… wasn’t I dying in a hospital bed just a moment ago?”

  Just as the boy struggled with this strange mixture of déjà vu and confusion, a sharp, clear voice rang through the Great Hall.

  “Ivan Hals!”

  Professor Minerva McGonagall stood by the four-legged stool where the Sorting Hat was pced, gncing down at the long parchment in her hands. But after a moment of silence, no student stepped forward. Frowning slightly, she called again, more firmly this time.

  “Ivan Hals!”

  As the silence stretched on, even Dumbledore cast a curious gnce in the direction of the first-years. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd of older students.

  “Who’s Ivan? That kid's got guts.”

  “Maybe he got lost and missed the Sorting?”

  “This should be good…”

  The remaining first-years, under the watchful gaze of the professors and uppercssmen, instinctively shuffled a few steps back—leaving only one boy with bck eyes and messy blond hair still frozen in pce. His confusion was now even more conspicuous.

  “Mr. Ivan Hals, please come up to the ptform,” McGonagall repeated patiently.

  “Me?” Ivan blinked, pointing at himself. A strange wave of familiarity washed over him, though he couldn’t expin why.

  “Yes, please step forward. Just like the others—there are still more students waiting to be sorted.” Her tone was gentle, not at all annoyed, even though it was the fourth time she had called his name. She assumed he was just a nervous new student.

  Before Ivan could react, someone gave him a nudge from behind. The other students, oddly cooperative, started nudging him forward in a silent chain of agreement.

  “There you go, dear, right this way,” McGonagall said, guiding him to the stool and pcing a rge, battered hat on his head.

  The Sorting Hat wriggled restlessly on Ivan’s head before speaking in a pyful voice.

  “Hey there, kiddo! Don’t be shy now—you’re not the first to get jittery at times like this, believe me. Just close your eyes, and it’ll be over in a jiffy. Doesn’t hurt one bit!”

  Ivan rolled his eyes. After watching the Sorting for a while, he had already begun to piece together some guesses about what was happening—but it still felt unbelievable.

  Could this really be Hogwarts? The legendary school of witchcraft and wizardry? But wasn’t that just…

  Before he could finish the thought, the Sorting Hat’s voice echoed directly in his mind.

  “Yes, of course it’s Hogwarts! And no, you’re not dreaming. I can assure you of that, one hundred percent!”

  “I’d wager you’re from a Muggle family, right? Happens every few years—some poor new witch or wizard thinks magic’s all just parlor tricks. They try to pull a rabbit out of me—imagine that! I keep telling them I don’t have rabbits, but they never believe me...”

  The Hat rambled on, cracking dry jokes with its mouth stretching dangerously close to the brim.

  Its ability to read minds made Ivan abruptly stop thinking. He forced himself to focus, afraid it might dig too deep and uncover something it shouldn’t.

  But perhaps due to the Hat’s meddling, fragmented memories began fshing through Ivan’s mind like slides on a projector. Strange and unfamiliar, he couldn’t piece them together—images of a witch teaching him magic…

  She looked to be around thirty, with long golden hair, lips moving soundlessly in a memory lost to time. A surge of fear gripped Ivan before he could understand more.

  The Sorting Hat, meanwhile, was muttering to itself about how chaotic his thoughts were. It was also surprised—he didn’t seem like a Muggle-born, yet he had no idea what Hogwarts was. How odd.

  Sweat formed on Ivan’s brow. Though the memories belonged to the body’s original owner, he worried the Hat might stumble upon something… dangerous. He quickly tried to think of random, harmless things to distract it.

  “Ahem.” Professor McGonagall coughed politely, sensing the Hat was getting carried away again.

  The Hat finally went quiet, and Ivan let out a silent sigh of relief. But now came the real question: which house would he be sorted into?

  “Let’s see…” the Hat drawled, dragging its words. “You’re optimistic, clever, and prone to overthinking… ah, and you know a bit of Dark magic.”

  “I know Dark magic?” Ivan blinked, recalling those fragments of memory.

  “Oh yes, something ancient and rare,” the Hat said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Quite fascinating, really—shows people things they’d rather not see. Someone once used it for pranks. You might try that too, though Dumbledore would probably throw a fit.”

  “So… Slytherin?” Ivan asked, more curious than concerned. If he truly had a gift for Dark magic, that house would make sense.

  At least once he was sorted, he could take off this damn mind-reading hat.

  In Hogwarts, Gryffindor valued courage—or recklessness, depending on how you looked at it. Ravencw prized intelligence and a thirst for knowledge. Slytherin was known for cunning and magical talent. And Hufflepuff…

  Well, Ivan always thought Hufflepuff was where the leftovers went.

  Dark magic would point to Slytherin, but his optimism and cleverness might also nd him in Ravencw.

  Ivan, rather smugly, thought he could easily fit in either.

  “No, no, not quite,” the Hat chuckled. “This might sting a little, but Slytherin tends to favor students with more raw talent, so…”

  “Gryffindor!” the Hat suddenly shouted, its voice booming through the Great Hall.

  “Gryffindor?” Ivan lifted the hat from his head, stunned. He didn’t even get the chance to compin about the Hat’s insult to his magical aptitude.

  “Yes, yes, absolutely! You belong there!” the Hat decred confidently. “I’ve never been wrong before—you’ve got the spirit for it!”

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