Retracing the Founder's Path

A cool breeze rippled across the surface of the Black Lake, casting shimmering waves under the moonlight. The crescent moon hung in the sky like a silver scimitar, its glow painting the water in a soft brilliance. The sparkling reflections resembled a living, luminous oil painting, one that seemed almost too magical to be real.

Occasionally, faint ripples hinted at movement below the surface. Strange creatures of the lake emerged briefly, their curious eyes watching as the boats glided silently past, each bearing a small group of first-years toward the castle.

Vizet leaned slightly over the edge of the boat, trying to catch a clearer glimpse of the mysterious beings. But before he could focus on any details, the boat brushed through a curtain of ivy and gently came to rest on the shore.

"All right, everyone off! Watch your step!" called Hagrid, his deep voice carrying easily over the quiet lake. Lantern in hand, he led the group along a dark, narrow path that seemed carved into the hillside. The way ahead gradually shifted from natural terrain to a cobbled trail, clearly shaped by human hands.

The first-years climbed a series of steep, worn stone steps. Despite the effort, excitement filled the air as they reached the crest and stepped into a wide courtyard, the magnificent castle looming ahead.

Even in the dim light, Hogwarts was awe-inspiring. Its towering spires and pointed arches, illuminated by the warm glow of hundreds of windows, stood as a testament to the ancient magic that built it. The castle's grand Gothic architecture seemed alive, its presence commanding both admiration and reverence. Vizet felt a strange pull, as though the castle itself was drawing him closer.

The sound of Hagrid's booming voice interrupted his musings. "Right, this way now!" He led the way to the enormous oak doors of Hogwarts.

Hagrid raised his massive fist and knocked loudly — three booming thuds that echoed through the courtyard.

The heavy doors creaked open, revealing Professor McGonagall standing tall and composed in her emerald robes. Her sharp eyes swept over the group, silencing the murmurs of excitement.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said with a slight nod. Turning her gaze back to the first-years, she addressed them with calm authority. "First-years, follow me. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

She led the group through a long corridor and into the castle's expansive entrance hall. Vizet's eyes widened as he took in the grandeur of the marble staircase, the high vaulted ceiling, and the flickering torchlight casting shadows across the walls. The magic of the castle seemed to hum in the air, alive and palpable.

McGonagall turned to face the group, her tone both serious and encouraging. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, her voice commanding their full attention. "Before you join your classmates in the Great Hall, you will take part in a very important tradition — the Sorting Ceremony."

She paused, allowing her words to sink in.

"Your house at Hogwarts will be your family for the duration of your time here. You will live, study, and grow alongside your housemates, sharing in their triumphs and challenges. Your achievements will contribute to your house's standing in the race for the House Cup — a symbol of excellence and teamwork."

Her sharp gaze swept over the nervous faces in the room. "Remember, each of the four houses — Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin — has a proud and storied history. You will all bring your own talents and potential to your house. No matter where you are placed, I hope you will strive to bring honor to Hogwarts."

Straightening her posture, she added, "I will return shortly to escort you into the Great Hall. Please take this time to prepare yourselves. The entire school will be watching during the ceremony."

With that, McGonagall left the entrance hall, the door closing softly behind her.

For a moment, silence hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. The crackling of the fire was the only sound, and the once-chatty group of students now exchanged anxious glances. Nervous whispers quickly broke out.

"Do you think it'll hurt?" Ron asked, his voice low but urgent. "Fred said there's a troll involved. Or was it a dragon?"

Harry, adjusting his glasses nervously, muttered, "A troll? Really? They can't expect us to fight one, can they?"

Hermione, who had been standing nearby, crossed her arms. "That's ridiculous. The Sorting Ceremony is obviously magical. I've read all about it. There's no need to fight anything."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Then why did Fred say it's the scariest thing he's ever done?"

"Because he's your brother, and he's clearly teasing you," Hermione replied matter-of-factly.

Harry looked to Vizet, who stood quietly by the fire, calm and composed. "You're not worried at all, are you?" Harry asked, trying to steady his own nerves.

Vizet shook his head. "No. Whatever it is, it's just part of tradition. There's no need to overthink it."

His serene confidence seemed to have a soothing effect on the others. Ron and Harry exchanged glances, then gave small, uncertain nods. Even Hermione looked slightly less tense.

While the others fretted and speculated, Vizet turned his attention inward. The room itself held faint traces of leyline magic, which he quietly absorbed with the help of the Eye of Insight. Although the power was modest, it fed the notebook's map, slowly clearing another tiny patch of fog.

"It's all connected," he thought, his curiosity about Hogwarts deepening.

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"Ghost! There's a ghost on the wall! It's haunted!"

The sudden scream caused a ripple of panic, and heads turned sharply toward the wall. There, drifting just above the floor, were several translucent figures, their forms glowing faintly in the dim light. They appeared to be engaged in a lively discussion, entirely oblivious to the group of children watching them with wide eyes.

The tension in the room broke into murmurs of fascination and fear when one ghost — a rotund figure dressed like a monk — descended to address them.

"You can call me the Fat Friar," the ghost said cheerfully, clasping his hands together as if in prayer. "The Sorting Ceremony is such an exciting tradition. I do hope some of you will end up in Hufflepuff! That was my house, you know."

The children stared, a mix of awe and apprehension. A few managed polite nods, but before anyone could muster a reply, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Move along now! The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin," said a no-nonsense ghost in a ruffled collar, gliding past the Fat Friar.

The remark sent waves of nervous energy rippling through the group once more. They barely had time to process the encounter when Professor McGonagall re-entered the room, her voice brisk and commanding. "Line up in single file. Follow me."

The heavy door creaked open, and they were led down the corridor, their footsteps echoing ominously.

When they stepped into the Great Hall, gasps spread among the first-years. It was unlike anything most of them had ever seen. The vast hall, lit with the warm glow of thousands of floating candles, exuded an air of ancient magic. The high dome above them shimmered with a perfect illusion of the night sky. Stars glittered against the velvety darkness, as though the ceiling had disappeared entirely.

"Look at that!" Ron muttered, craning his neck to take it all in.

Hermione, clearly using facts to steady her nerves, began to recite in a low but rapid voice. "The ceiling is enchanted to mimic the sky outside. It's mentioned in Hogwarts: A History. It can even replicate the weather —"

"Pipe down, Hermione," Ron whispered, half exasperated, half distracted by the floating candles.

The first-years shuffled to the front of the hall, where the older students were already seated at four long tables representing the four houses. The tables were covered with golden plates and goblets, gleaming under the candlelight. At the far end of the hall stood a fifth table on a raised platform, where the professors sat, watching with interest.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, carrying a simple, four-legged stool. On top of it, she placed a shabby, pointed hat. The hat looked ancient — worn, patched, and slightly frayed at the brim. Despite its unimpressive appearance, it seemed to command a certain level of respect, standing alone at the center of attention.

"What in the world?" Ron whispered. "That old thing's going to decide where we live?"

Vizet smirked, leaning toward Harry and whispering, "Do you think we'll need to repair it first with a spell before it works?"

Hermione, catching the joke but missing the tone, looked horrified. "I haven't practiced Reparo enough! What if we're supposed to fix it ourselves?" she said, her voice trembling.

Before anyone could respond, the hat suddenly came to life. A long, jagged seam near its brim stretched open, resembling a mouth, and it began to sing in a raspy, creaky voice.

The hat's song was, by all accounts, not particularly pleasant to the ears — its scratchy, saw-like tone made a few students wince. But the lyrics captured everyone's attention. The hat sang of the founders of Hogwarts — Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin — and their shared dream of creating a school to nurture young witches and wizards. It described the traits each founder valued most in their students: bravery for Gryffindor, loyalty for Hufflepuff, wit for Ravenclaw, and ambition for Slytherin.

By the time the song ended, a quiet buzz of whispers had spread among the students. The hat tilted slightly, as if bowing to the room, before falling silent.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward once more, holding a long sheepskin scroll in her hands. Her expression was serious but calm, and her voice carried effortlessly over the hushed hall.

"When I call your name, you will step forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and sit on the stool. The hat will determine your house."

She scanned the list briefly before calling out the first name.

"Abbott, Hannah!"