Chapter 16: The sorting ceremony

Merlin was the first to be consumed by the otherworldly grace of the obscured room, their still shawled form passing right by the curious figure of Rowena, who, even with her eagle-eyed sense of vision, failed to initially spot the lone wanderer. Still, their actions managed to start a trend amongst the masses as the groups that lingered throughout the brightly illuminated space began to congregate at the chokehold between the two realms.

The aristocrats were next to depart from the heavenly land, their ego getting the better in a display of repressed rage for the lone wanderer who had trail-blazed the path they wished to set. Following them barged the children of Hogsmeade. Their mass of tangled footsteps echoed discordantly throughout the undecorated domain as they tried and failed to imitate their predecessor's way of life.

However, their cacophony of disharmonic strides was unable to compare to the final group, the leftovers, the remnants that possessed neither the size nor pull to rival the two prior clusters, a hodgepodge of wizards bearing different backgrounds and titles. Those from the north locked shoulders with their opposites, while the loners that held no place in either faction drifted aimlessly through what should have been a sizable space that the masses had made a claustrophobia-inducing nightmare of stale breaths and perspiration. And it was at the back of such a group that two figures hovered, one a breathtaking beauty with long silken raven black hair and the other the very definition of average.

Herne and the unknown girl lingered at the back of the horde for two very different reasons. One was not afraid of being late and already knew the surprises that lay in store, while the other simply didn't know how to go about entering such an escapade. Herne's eyes brewed atop the dissipating crowd that grew leaner and leaner by the second until nought, but a few stray bodies remained though they too would soon be consumed by the mysterious realm.

Left alone with the weird child, the Rowena look-alike departed from the now silenced realm without even sparing the boy a second glance. Herne was alone and isolated once more, forced to hold the title of last to enter the concealed locale, a position the boy would likely grow accustomed to throughout his time at Hogwarts, for this would not be the last time Herne was neglected by the castle's occupants.

With his gaze enamoured by the charm of the shrouded opening, Herne's feet began to move, carrying with them the boy's still limp body that felt oddly spry despite his apparent exhaustion, his head still thumped with the occasional beat of agonising pain. However, it was no longer a permanent fixture of the boy's body. He was healing. Entering the castle, a land of magic, his body began to recover.

When his figure crossed the border between the two distant realms, the child would immediately find not only himself but the rest of the gathered parties enamoured by the room's wondrous charms, for they did no longer reside in a space more akin to a ballroom, but rather a grand hall.

An exorbitant amount of what looked and felt natural light from the sky above decorated the land with its pale colour, creating an odd dichotomy between the apparent heat the enclosed space presented and the chilling tones that laced it. One usually wouldn't have spared the peculiar feature a second glance. Still, for some strange acumen, all the future students gathered in the expansive area found themselves searching for the source of such radiance. When they saw it, their eyes practically glazed over in wonder, for what lingered atop the land's egregiously large arched ceiling was not a chandelier encrusted with fine diamonds like one would expect but instead the very sky above.

An enchanted portrait of the outside world, one that reflected the motions of the sun and the birds overhead. Clouds drifted across the vast picture, yet their soft winds did not pass through the enclosed hall. They could see the expansive image of the sky, and yet they were separated from nature's spartan treatment. It was truly a feat of magic ability the likes of which few students had ever known.

Still, such a projection would only be well-spent if combined with an equally remarkable space to thrive in, a requirement the staff at Hogwarts managed to match with the rest of the hall's interior. Walled in by what appeared to be artificially browned marble, the castle was truly a marvel to behold.

Columns of grand design sprouted from even distances to create the arched ceiling while sculptures of half-bodied angels protruded from their form, bearing a cauldron of ever-dancing flames in their grasp. A rainbow of multicoloured light poured in through the one window the land possessed, for it was not a typical piece of glass but rather an artisanal creation of stained pains given form in the image of the Hogwarts emblem. Rows of tightly woven walnut tables flooded the hall, partitioning what should have been a unified land into four distinct subsets guarded by the hovering ensigns that gently swayed against the invisible wind.

A grand dining table stretched horizontally across the back of the exquisite hall, with four exceptionally high chairs littering the space at an even distance from one another, all of which possessed a different make of wood and colouring. From the left sat a beach throne, pale yellow in colour. It dominated the furthest point of the room. However, it was not unoccupied, for sitting atop the royal cathedra smiled a woman draped in a similar shade of yellow, Helga Hufflepuff, the plump woman who had led the inhabitants of Hogsmeade to her wondrous home. She eyed the children with undisguised warmth, not disparaging between either class nor blood purity.

A similar tale could be told for the man that sat upon a throne of mahogany to her left, with a mane of flowing fiery red hair akin to that of a lion. His jubilant gaze perused the mass of students with a welcoming aura that only someone of his character could openly emit. His head and charismatically handsome face sat upon an open palm bedazzled with the most wondrous gems while his flowing cloak of magma encrusted with gold fell loosely against the dining table. His mouth appeared to quiver in anticipation for what was to come, as though he could barely restrain his impulses to simply bellow out an explanation.

To his side sat an unoccupied throne of royal blue and silver, an item Herne didn't need to observe the owner of, for he knew only one woman who wore such resplendent colours. This was Rowena's seat, her destined birthright upon which she would rule the mass of uneducated children, yet, for the moment, she stood apathetically in wait at the forefront of her table. One more seat lined the grandiose sculpture of wood, composed of a bleak dark wood and encrusted with the resplendent green light of emeralds.

It stood dauntingly before the observant adolescents to gaze upon, attracting the envy and want of a few precarious individuals while those with hearty personalities steered clear of the dark tones and, more importantly, the snide man that sat upon them. His skin was an unhealthy shade of white, as though lacking sunlight, while his cheeks and face appeared skeletal and sunken. The man wasn't old perse, none of the staff was. In fact, he was merely in the middle of his twenties, yet he looked as though he would be better off put in a retirement home and left to rot by the wayside. His emerald green eyes were dull, lacking the light that pertains to life, while his one skeletal hand that protruded from his cloak of night looked as though it was in the midst of simply rotting off like it wouldn't be a strange occurrence to find it festering with maggots and other such corpse feeding creatures.

A ring of obsidian glimmered gently under the sky's heavenly radiance, displaying a crest of an intertwined snake that the man appeared to gently rub between his forefinger and thumb as though obsessively cradling the item he had created. A head of long white hair spilt forth from his scalp, with darkened roots faintly visible through the snow-like curtain. He eyed the children with an upturned expression, ignoring the majority of those who dared intrude upon his domain while half-heartedly focusing upon those that wore the garments of aristocrats.

A spine-chilling jolt of fear ran down the bodies of those who met his gaze without expressed permission. Those from Hogsmeade who found the man's sleek snake-like appearance something to be desired were immediately silenced under his tyrannical leer, while a similar fate befell anyone with a less-than-desired pedigree.

Still, it was not the spectators that found themselves the epicentre of Herne's interest but rather a stool that sat precariously in the forefront of the dining table, illuminated by a stray beam of enchanted sunlight. There was nothing special about the item. It was not made of some hard-to-find wood nor masterfully crafted by a renowned artisan desired by nations. For all intents and purposes, it was exceptionally ordinary, but it was not the stool that fully enraptured the boy but rather the rag that sat atop it. A bundled pile of tanned leather, forced into the shape of a pointed upright mound, lingered up high on the wooden craft, its form unflattering in nature, possessing countless crinkles and folds that could quickly be dispelled via a simple spell it appeared to stare at the children through one of its many slanted and shadowed ridges.

Despite being little more than removed and tempered with cow skin, the object looked strangely alive, with a broad grin that appeared to further deepen with every approaching step the group released. Rowena stood before such an item with her usual apathetic expression, uncaring to both the world and the many youths who anxiously shuffled before her.

"At Hogwarts, you will be split into four houses, one governed by each of the teachers present here. Each house possesses a different ideology and set of values. For example, those with an abundance of bravery and a yearning for adventure in their hearts will be sorted into Gryffindor, while those who seek achievements and self-growth may find a home in Slytherin." Rowena started, her voice was flat and unfaltering in tone to the point where if not for her enchanting appearance, one might simply tune out of the explanation, and yet, despite her blandness, her every word managed to ensnare the senses of all gathered within the gargantuan dining hall.

"Those in your house will be your family, your compatriots. You will share both lessons, and every waking moment with them, so you should get to know them well." It was at this point the lady known as Rowena froze as her void-like gaze shifted from the student body she had gathered to the rotting item that sat listlessly upon its own makeshift throne. She grasped the leather mess with one delicate hand before hoisting it for all to see.

"This is the sorting hat, an item we have enchanted with the ability to analyse one's nature. You will be selected by a house after receiving the sorting hats analysis. Now, I will call the first of you up to the plateau." Rowena hurriedly explained as, from her spare hand, unfurled a parchment, one whose ink glowed in a faint golden hue.

"Alexander Sanguine," Rowena halfheartedly mentioned. Immediately static seemed to fill the air. It was as though lightning had struck the small group of children as all way in late for the child bearing the name Alexander to take his leave to head towards his uncertain future, and sure enough, with the passing of time, a hero emerged, one robed in the gaudy attire of aristocrats. The child was small in stature, possessing an age more akin to that of Herne than the teen he had once exchanged words with, though his height was a deceptive feature, for he wore not the Hogwarts boots but rather a set of high platform shoes, one's that dared not encroach upon his flesh that would otherwise be covered by the finest of silk.

The child walked to the elevated seat, his steps uncertain. He shook under the intense glare of the masses that seemed to skewer him alive, for not only was he being watched by those of a lesser blood purity with eager-eyed curiosity but he was also being analysed by those of his class, who looked to weed out the weak, to form devilish connections with those they could dominate. Taking his place atop the wooden throne, the hat that now truly looked alive was placed atop his head of long oil-black hair, whereupon it sat with an inquisitive gesture.

The folds that Herne once attributed to a faint mimicking spark of life appeared to move, forming expressions that only came with sentience and the ability to think. Two deep gashes of shadow seemed to copy the motions of eyebrows, performing glowered movements that looked to intimidate those who watched from afar. The hat remained silent for what felt like hours, but in reality, was no longer than mere minutes before finally, with an alarmingly gruff voice, it spoke.

"Alexander Sanguine, Slytherin!" The hat bellowed, creating an orifice of umbral colouring in the shape of what could be considered an elongated slit mouth. However, the many students gathered did not even spare the animated objects cheer a second thought, for they found themselves drawn to the many odd occurrences that immediately plagued the child's form. The once bland tunic he wore, veiled underneath a garment of the finest fabric, appeared to change. As though soaked in a pool of green blood, it took on an emerald hue that would never wash out, while the robe that he draped halfheartedly atop his shoulder went through a similar change. Its underbelly that, once possessed a monochrome grey colouring, morphed into the same poisonous hue the former garment possessed.

All the while, the sigil of Hogwarts, which previously possessed four creatures bearing distinct colours fighting for dominance atop the embroidered image, had finally found its victor in the form of the horrific serpent. He had been sorted. His character boiled down to a few distinct characteristics that would define his life from this point forward. At the hat's suggestion, the eyes of the man atop the throne of dusk seemed to glitter for but a second before he sent a gesture for the wide-eyed child to join him amongst the table he guarded.

The child's steps were shaky at first, as though walking with a considerable ailment that plagued his mind, though, within milliseconds, he found himself alleviated of his abrupt blight, and his gait became considerably wider. Yet before the child could even find himself applauded by the four heads of house, Rowena had sent another call for action demanding the appearance of yet another child to be judged by the all-mighty construct.

"William," Rowena called, her voice echoing the singular name of a child whose family had yet to make their mark upon the world. Still, such a trait was not uncommon for the times, and within seconds, a hero emerged from the mass of exhilarated children in the form of a mousy-haired teen, the boy who had once belittled Herne, claiming that he did not bear the right to produce the syllables even needed for his name now had his identity revealed for the child to enjoy. He walked towards the tanned item with a confident motion. His steps were brisk, never falling into a state of complacency for longer than a millisecond. He quickly found his place atop the uncomfortable construct, at which point Rowena dazedly placed the item atop his head.

Seconds flew by as the children awaited the item's verdict. A few juveniles from Hogsmeade even began to form guesses as to what house the boy would find himself in as they awaited what they assumed would be yet another couple minutes for the hat to form a conclusion, a hypothesis that held no ground for not even a second after they had reached their own ending did the item speak, letting out yet another ear grating wail.

"William…Gryffindor!" The hat announced, as the boy's plain tunic took on a vibrant crimson hue, the same colour as both blood and wine, of that of glory and valour. His robe, too, wasn't spared from the magic's sodden curse, as the lion ruthlessly intruded upon the domain of its once alleys and, in one swift motion, executed them, leaving their blood to soak the land upon which it would rest. Still, the changes did not stop there, for different from the previous lad was the belt that William wore tightly fastened to his chest, one that bore the same Hogwarts emblem the lion once tarnished.

The silver metal immediately began to contort, its prior lunar glow now stained in the horrid shade of a blood moon, while atop the H that now slumbered deep in a pool of crimson rose an open-mawed Lion to take its place, its teeth glittering in the same silver light the belt initially shimmered with while it's face shone in radiant gold. He had been sorted, not into the house of snakes like his predecessor but rather into the honourable den of lions, Gryffindor. At the hat's call, William released a snide yet all-knowing grin in the direction of the crowd, or rather in the direction of a singular child, at Herne, who didn't even flinch at the teens attempted taunt but instead released a radiant smile of delight for both his achievements and finally for having the ability to call him by name.

Immediately William's expression turned acrimonious, he didn't like Herne, and he especially didn't like how such a useless child now knew of his title. Still, though such feelings of spite arose in his mind, he let them be for now as he joined his place amongst the empty tables under the guard of Godric Gryffindor. But let it be known that William had not put aside his vendetta against the boy but rather withheld his hatred for a more glamorous occasion until he could release the information that would bring ruin to the ignorant boy's life.

A few more names were called to take their place atop the rickety legs of the carved stool, and the sorting hat passed its judgement upon all of them without need for spite or hatred. Its verdict was apathetic to both the feelings of its wearer and the internal conflicts they may be dealing with. It tore apart family and friends alike, splitting them not by blood but instead values and what they indeed held dear underneath the shackles of their hearts. Every house now possessed at least a few occupants seated upon the leviathan-like tables, conversing with boisterous tones between that of their kind as they watched the eagerly awaiting youths with experienced smiles.

Smiles that appeared to stiffen upon hearing Rowena's coming call.

"Merlin?"