Chương 33: Chapter 34 : Sorting Ceremony I

"Excuse me?" A voice tinged with arrogance swept from their right. Tyson turned to see a pale, sharp-featured boy with sleek blonde hair striding toward them through the crowd. He walked like he owned the place, and the smug expression he had on his face made it so punchable that Tyson's knuckles instinctively twitched with the urge to wipe it off. Trailing a step behind him were two burly boys, built like two slightly less fatter versions of Dudley. The Dragon Boy with nerfed IQ and his cronies made an entrance!

Draco Malfoy's cold grey eyes swept over the group, lingering for a fraction of a second on Daphne before settling on Harry, who just happened to be showing his lightning shaped love bite to the ice queen. Draco's eyes widened in recognition.

"Are you Harry Pot—" he began, but the question died on his lips as a chorus of startled screams erupted from the back of the crowd. Half the first-years jumped in alarm as every head snapped toward the sound. Even Draco turned, momentarily distracted from the Boy Who Was Showing Off. Tyson let out a quiet sigh, already knowing exactly what was coming.

"Ghosts!" Ron exclaimed, his voice thick with excitement rather than fear. A stream of pearly, translucent figures drifted straight through the far wall, floating over their heads. The ghosts chatted casually among themselves, completely oblivious to the awestruck first-years below. Tyson watched them pass for a moment before turning his attention back to Draco, who was still craning his neck for a better look at Harry.

Without a word, Tyson casually stepped to the side, deliberately blocking the view, and returned his focus to Daphne as if nothing had happened.

"So, is it a deal," he asked smoothly, "or are you going to keep stalling?"

"Don't do this, Tyson. Betting is wrong!" Hermione said disapprovingly from behind him. Tyson rolled his eyes. It was only bad when one kept on betting or gambling despite repeated losses. Tyson was absolutely certain he was going to win this one. It was basically free money. He ignored Hermione and extended his hand toward Daphne.

"Come on, your majesty. Won't you shake a poor sinner's hand? You might just get lucky…" Any lingering hesitation in her expression vanished. She grasped his hand with a steady, confident grip.

"I don't need luck, muggleborn," she replied coolly.

"I'm a Greengrass."

"And when did I say you were a Bluegrass?" Tyson said without missing a beat. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Daphne's face darkened. But before she could reply, the grand double doors creaked open once more. Warm golden light spilled into the corridor, accompanied by the low, vibrant roar of hundreds of students already seated inside. Professor McGonagall emerged, her posture as strict and commanding as ever.

"Form two lines and follow me," she ordered, her tone entertaining no argument. She turned sharply, and flung the doors wide open. They all lined up in two, not-so-straight lines and followed her inside. The moment they stepped inside, the sheer scale of the hall struck them. Four long house tables stretched the entire length of the room, packed with students. Tyson could swear there were atleast twice—or even three times—as many as the movies had shown.

Suits of armor stood sentinel along the perimeter, just as they had in the corridor. Hundreds of floating candles lightened the vast hall in a warm, flickering glow, while the enchanted ceiling above mirrored the night sky. It was dark, infinite, and glittering with countless stars. Tyson was completely mesmerized for a moment. He heard Hermione gasp softly. She was standing directly beside him in the adjacent line.

"It's even more beautiful than described in Hogwarts, A History," she whispered in awe.

"Yeah," Tyson murmured back with a small smile, "it's simply… magical." If it wasn't only them. The entire line of first-years was captivated by the sight, and soon, they started chattering excitedly. They immediately quieted down after a stern gaze from Professor McGonagall. They proceeded toward the staff table at the far end of the hall. All seats behind it were occupied except for the deputy headmistress's position to the right.

At the center sat Albus Dumbledore, wearing a gentle, benevolent smile as he observed the new arrivals. He looked exactly like the image Tyson had always had of him in his mind: a harmless and kind-looking old grandpa with half a foot in his grave and a long silver-white beard and bright blue eyes, wearing a deep purple robe embroidered with faint golden patterns. On the seat to his left sat Severus Snape, the Half-Cucked prince, dressed in dark robes.

His greasy hair hanged limply and his face was set in a perpetual scowl, as though everyone owed him money, which might be true since he was a renowned potion master. Atleast, Dumbledore owed him a lot, and not for the potions. There was also the tiny Professor Flitwick, who looked like a three-year-old, the eccentric Sybill Trelawney, the plump Professor Sprout, Punjabi Quirrel and several other Professors Tyson didn't immediately recognize.

Professor McGonagall brought them to a stop so they were lined up neatly in the centre of the room for all to see. She then retrieved a four-legged stool and placed it before the staff table, setting an old, patched, and rather dirty-looking pointed hat upon it. Was this the legendary sorting hat? Well, it didn't look anything special… until it moved! The first years gasped in shock! It twitched once, then a rip near the brim opened like a mouth.

A rough, gravelly voice filled the hall as it began to sing a song:"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty—"'Remarkable,' Tyson mused.

'The hat can read minds even without physical contact.'

"But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me." When the hat finally fell silent, the Great Hall erupted in warm applause. It gave a modest twitch, almost a bow, before going still once more. Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long parchment in her hand.

"When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and place the hat on your head. The Sorting Hat will then announce your House." She glanced down at the list.

"Hannah Abbott!" A rosy-cheeked girl with blonde pigtails stepped forward nervously. The hat had barely touched her hair before it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" Cheers exploded from the table on the far left. The girl beamed and hurried to join her new housemates. One by one, more names were called. Sometimes the hat decided in seconds. Sometimes, it took a while, as if thinking deeply before announcing its choice. But Tyson paid little attention to the ceremony.

His gaze searching for the confident blonde noble girl who was about to generously add another hundred Galleons to his pouch.