It's beautiful.

It isn't a dream or a prank or a mistake. He's here for real, to be a wizard. He has a home.

Soon enough, the moment is past - though like many who came before, they may find that it is only past, never quite gone - and the distant rumbling hubbub of the rest of the school is audible again in the distance, as they disembark, and are shepherded up to the front doors.

"Firs' years, Professor McGonagall!" announces Hagrid proudly.

The doors are opened by: a witch. You would know she was a witch if you saw her in the grocery store. You'd strongly suspect it even if she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, if it was physically possible for her to be wearing anything other than green-black robes and a pointy hat, which it isn't.

She looks them over with eyes that have seen everything. She has been here before them and she will be here after them; she is as inevitable as gravity; she has never been surprised and she will never be bored.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here." Hagrid holds the door as McGonagall glides away, leading them through a magnificent entrance hall that must be three stories high if it isn't higher. Across from them is a second, even grander set of wooden doors, bound in iron and carved with swirling vines. She turns aside from these, toward a smaller door, and leads them into a little annex off what must be a truly massive hall. Through the opposite door they can hear the low murmur of a hundred conversations.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," begins the speech, echoing softly off walls that have heard it so many times they could probably give it themselves. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. 

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

She slips through the door into the Great Hall, leaving them all alone for a minute.

Merlin, what an intimidating teacher. She looks totally impossible to put anything over on. But! He's about to get Sorted and be a proper Hogwarts student like all of his brothers.

What a comforting teacher. She looks like the kind Dudley and his gang never dared to do anything in front of. But! He's about to get Sorted in front of the entire school. Aaaaaaaa.

Oh my gosh she's so cool Hermione wants to be like that when she grows up.

She pats herself down for dust, straightens her pointy hat, informs Neville that his cloak is askew, and is halfway through telling Ron somewhat imperiously that he's got dirt on his nose when the entire haunting of ghosts bursts dramatically through the wall.

They seemed to be engaged, as they arrived, in an argument. A pearly, rotund fellow in a monk's habit was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

"Are you a ghost? I mean, yes."

This--changes everything, maybe? Does everyone become ghosts? All wizards? Are there people from thousands of years ago hanging around being ghosts? Are his parents ghosts? Is Voldemort a ghost?

"Why yes! I am a ghost!" beams the Fat Friar. "Lovely to meet you, perhaps I will see you in Hufflepuff. My old house, you know!" Probably not, though. Most children, having never seen a ghost before, are not overwhelmingly curious enough to successfully say words at this stage of the welcome to Hogwarts pageantry - usually nobody answers at all - and this particular child is probably therefore either a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. No skin off his back; Sir Nicholas likes that sort of thing more than he does, when he's not busy complaining about Peeves.

And then off they float again, as McGonagall returns.

?!?!?

Probably most people aren't ghosts or they would have come up when Hagrid was talking about the war. Definitely still something he needs to ask Hermione and/or the library about as soon as possible.

McGonagall leads them through the next door and into the Great Hall.

It is perhaps the greatest of all halls. The light of thousands of floating candles shimmers on golden dishes and dark wooden tables and hundreds of staring eyes. The ceiling--is there a ceiling? Or is the room simply open to the heavens? There are more stars over each table than Little Whinging showed in its entire sky.

In a place of honor before the high table, McGonagall sets a worn-out, ancient pointy hat upon a stool.

Woah.

Ron is staring just as much, though more at the grandeur of everything than at the sky--he can see stars like this on any clear evening, living far from the muggles and their lights. He smiles at his brothers at the Gryffindor table, gets three thumbs up from the twins and an encouraging nod from Percy.

The hat, on its stool, comes to life.

A tear along its edge opens up, and a beat of anticipatory silence falls upon the hall, and then it begins to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see;
I'll eat myself if you can find a smarter hat than me!
You can keep your bowlers black, your top hats sleek and tall;
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart:
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry, set Gryffindors apart.
You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal:
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true, and unafraid of toil.
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning will always find their kind.
Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

(She KNEW about this and she DID NOT TELL ANYONE even though it was REALLY HARD and she has gotten a GOOD GRADE in TRADITIONS.)

Oh nice, that doesn't sound dangerous at all. Or like it will take too long per person, which is good, because Feast.

Professor McGonagall starts calling their names in alphabetical order. "Abbot, Hannah" and "Bones, Susan" both go to Hufflepuff.

Oh noooooo the whole school is going to find out his name and face at once. At least he won't have to get everyone's reaction one at a time?

After the fifteenth of forty - "Goyle, Gregory" - goes to Slytherin, "Granger, Hermione" scurries excitedly up to the stool, nearly before she's called, and jams the Hat onto her head.

Hello! Hi! I want to be a Gryffindor like Dumbledore please I know I can do it I can do anything.

I'm sure you can, dear, but are you quite sure you wouldn't like to be a Ravenclaw instead?

The books and cleverness one? Well I mean yeah that does sound nice and everything but being smart is easy. Being brave is - impressive? important? terrifying but in a good way, glows bright like a sun she can't quite look directly at and has been reaching blindly toward her whole life all the same because she wants it, like burning - I dunno. Better.

Oh, sweetheart. Godric would have loved you so.

It doesn't suit you, though, you know. Gryffindors are not used to having children such as you among them; they will not know what to do with you. You will be lonely, until you learn to be one of them. Do you really want that? It will hurt.

I know, I know, it will, I get it, but - how to explain this. She has to. This is the most important conversation she has ever had and it can read her mind and she just needs to make herself understood, for once, to make it listen. Is there any point trying to hedge? Should she be trying not to think the thing she is always judged for saying aloud no matter how true they are, because it's rude to think yourself important - no, it can read her mind, it's too late. I'm already the smartest, she therefore thinks, earnestly, sincerely, it's not hubris it's just simply true. I don't need the Ravenclaw private library, I don't need other academically inclined classmates to encourage me, I'm going to get the best grades anyway, I need - I need the people who'll teach me something I don't already know.

Perhaps,

says the Hat, gently.

But I didn't ask what you need. That's not my job, not really. I asked what you want. I'm only a little bit divinatory, see, so I'm not in the business of forcing people into things they don't want for their own good. Tends to backfire, that sort of thing.

Is that different? Is she supposed to want things she doesn't need, that sounds very impractical and inefficient.

Will it give her what its divination feels would be best for her own good if she, like, signs a mental consent form -