Chapter 13: The Sorting Ceremony

The Hogwarts Express began to slow down as the sky turned a purplish-red.

"Hey! Time to change clothes!"

Nietzsche suddenly woke up from the couch, startled like a frightened rabbit. He flailed his arms wildly, slapping at Hermione's arm as her prompting pulled him from his dream.

"Where... where are we?" he asked, clutching his chest, his eyes wide with confusion.

"We're almost at school! We need to put on our robes!"

Hermione threw a black wizard's robe onto Nietzsche.

"Then just go ahead and change..."

"Then why don't you step out!" Hermione clicked her tongue, unsure if Nietzsche was playing dumb or just barely waking up. "Do you want me to change in the hallway?"

"I had my eyes closed."

Hermione's cheeks flushed red, but she kept a straight face and grabbed his wrist, pushing him out the door.

What a hassle~

Standing outside, Nietzsche rolled his eyes and calmly took off his coat, pulling the black school robe over his gray shirt.

In fact, he had just dreamt of another universe.

To be precise, it was as if he were a god, standing amidst the crowd, observing everything happening around him. That world resembled a live-action version of a DC comic book.

The towering buildings and advanced technology, far beyond this era, felt... too real.

"Did you have a nightmare?" When the compartment door opened again, Hermione had already put on her pointed hat and was holding Mercury's cage.

"Not exactly, maybe your voice just scared me."

On this train, Nietzsche was the only person Hermione knew. Well, Harry was sort of half a friend, so as she looked out the window at the approaching station, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous.

She glanced at Nietzsche, who was lost in thought, and sighed internally.

Honestly, sometimes Hermione couldn't figure Nietzsche out. You could say he was impulsive, but everything he did was logical. Then again, you could say he was rational, but sometimes he acted recklessly, like he was fueled by sheer passion.

When Nietzsche was lost in his thoughts, he seemed as distant as a reader viewing illustrations in a novel.

"What did you dream about?"

"The future..." he replied cryptically.

"First-year students!!" A loud voice boomed from the platform, interrupting them. "First-year students, follow me!"

It was Hagrid, the giant they had seen before at Madam Malkin's. He stood in the cold wind, holding a lantern, and the wet mist and cold breeze couldn't even make the flame flicker.

It was as if that fire would never go out.

Dragging his luggage, Nietzsche followed the crowd onto a bumpy cobblestone path. Both sides of the narrow road were pitch black, with only the occasional sound of frogs croaking.

"The magical world is probably controlled by wizards who believe in bloodline superiority. A small portion of them fell from power due to the magical war in 20th-century Britain... As for hostile relations, look at the Weasleys and Malfoys."

"What matters isn't the dream, Hermione. It's the revelation..."

The two walked with their heads down, trailing behind the crowd.

"Is it possible you've just read too many superhero comics?"

The look Hermione gave him was like a mother gazing at a son caught up in adolescent fantasies—a look of indulgence and helplessness that made Nietzsche shiver.

"You've heard about the recent string of murders in Britain, right?"

"Mm-hmm~"

"The murderer is a wizard." He gestured for Hermione to lower her voice. "From what Ron Weasley let slip, the Malfoys are part of a dark wizard lineage."

"That doesn't make sense... I mean, any dark wizard could be the culprit!"

But Nietzsche knew much more than Hermione.

He began to piece together his thoughts. "It's not religious killings; someone is trying to sabotage the relationship between wizards and the British government."

Nietzsche pulled out a Chocolate Frog card from his pocket. On it was the image of a white-bearded man, the same card Harry had given him because he already had one.

The man on the card, with silver hair, a crooked nose, and half-moon glasses, was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Nietzsche flipped the card over and handed it to Hermione.

"Current headmaster of Hogwarts, greatest wizard... Defeated Grindelwald in 1945..." Hermione squinted in the moonlight, struggling to read the words. "He is indeed the most Muggle-friendly wizard."

"Voldemort died in 1981, and the Malfoy faction withdrew."

"Are you saying the murderer might be connected to the Malfoys?!"

Hermione's logical thinking wasn't bad, so she quickly caught on.

"Not exactly." Nietzsche hesitated briefly before continuing. "I think it's linked to the entire faction that supported Voldemort back then."

With Voldemort's fall, wizards who believed in bloodline superiority went into hiding, while Muggle-friendly wizards rose to power.

But even with this assumption, many questions remained.

The issue was that, based on what Ron and Neville had said, wizards had no idea about the outside world's developments. How could they know where high-ranking members of the British church lived?

Not even ordinary people could know that, let alone wizards.

"But Voldemort is dead. Why would they risk exposure just to kill a few regular people?"

"Exactly..." Nietzsche massaged his temples, feeling the headache.

Regardless, he would send what he knew tonight to Mycroft and Sherlock.

"So, is that what's been worrying you?"

"No... Yes, pretty much."

Hermione pursed her lips, watching Nietzsche stand on his toes behind the crowd. She knew it wasn't entirely because of this. The way he had acted on the train couldn't simply be called "fear."

Compared to the usual Nietzsche, in that moment, he seemed drained of all positive emotion, left only with despair.

The way he had curled up, trembling in the corner...

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid's booming voice drowned out the rest of the noise. "We're right below Hogwarts now."

Hermione looked up. The sky had completely darkened.

Across a wide lake, on a cliff, stood a castle. Its windows were lit with a warm orange glow, each one neatly arranged.

For her, this was a welcome sight: Hogwarts was even more like a fairy tale than she had imagined on the train.

As the last ones to board, Hermione and Nietzsche found themselves alone in a small wooden boat. As they traveled a certain distance, Hermione could feel the ivy canopy brushing over her head.

Finally, they arrived at the dock beneath the castle.

"Stop worrying about that for now. Cheer up." Hermione looked nervously at Professor McGonagall, who was standing in front of the large oak door, wearing a green wizard's robe. "Think about the Sorting instead."

Okay, she suddenly regretted being the most serious one on the train.

To Hermione, teachers had a natural aura of authority.

But when Professor McGonagall sternly glanced around, she didn't linger on Hermione longer than anyone else, making her breathe a sigh of relief.

"You're going to tear my robe, King of the Train."

"Keep quiet, Nietzsche, or I'll make sure you regret it!"

"Hmph... I think Neville was right; you definitely belong in Ravenclaw." Nietzsche smoothed out the wrinkles she had made in his robe. "They say it's a house for those who are eccentric."

But Hermione?

She and Nietzsche had been bickering for two whole years.

"Are you talking about yourself?" Hermione mocked, climbing the grand marble staircase. "Oh, wait, maybe you'd be better off in Slytherin."

"There's no reason for that."

"Tsk tsk... Nietzsche, admit it. You didn't fight back on the train because you're a cunning guy who'll do anything to achieve his goals!"

"But I didn't hurt Neville, and I didn't hurt you."

"I'll take the credit for that, thanks."

Professor McGonagall, preparing for the upcoming ceremony, carefully introduced the four Hogwarts Houses once more. After ensuring that everyone was ready, she led them out of the empty room next to the hall.

They passed through the hall, and beyond a door was the Great Hall.

Inside, four long tables were arranged. Half were filled with older students, while the other half was reserved for the new students. Floating candles hovered above the tables, and all the tableware consisted of gleaming gold plates and crystal goblets.

Hermione thought she had wandered into some kind of old aristocratic banquet.

There were also white ghosts drifting above the four tables, and the arched ceiling at the top looked just like the night sky outside. It seemed like all the students were dining beneath the stars.

"That's Headmaster Dumbledore," said Nietzsche, spotting an old man with silver hair standing in the middle of the teachers' table at the front.

"Quiet!" Professor McGonagall called out. She placed a wooden chair in front of the new students and set a dusty old hat on it. "When I call your name, you'll put it on your head!"

The dirty hat split open at a seam and, in a strange tone, began reciting lyrics.

"Perhaps you belong in Gryffindor, where the brave dwell in their hearts... or maybe in Ravenclaw, where the wise gather with their kindred spirits..."

It didn't seem to be singing at all—more like chanting.

Nietzsche wished he had learned how to shut out noise in the past two months, so he wouldn't have to endure this.

"Hannah Abbott!" 

The first student called was the silver-haired girl who had earlier told Neville Longbottom where his toad was. She barely touched the hat before it shouted her House.

"Hufflepuff!"

"Terry Boot." "Ravenclaw."

"Hermione Granger!"

The curly-haired girl standing next to Nietzsche nervously walked forward. After taking three steps, she glanced back at him.

To her, this was like being placed into a class. If her good friends weren't in the same class, would their relationship fade?

When someone is nervous, countless thoughts can arise.

"Hmm... This is tricky," the Sorting Hat's voice echoed in Hermione's head. It didn't sound like an old man weathered by time. "You have great ambitions, and you're brave, but you're also very clever..."

"Am I about to offend three of the founders at once? Oh well, they're not here anymore."

"Can you read minds?" Hermione clutched the edge of the wooden chair tightly.

"Of course not. It's more like... intuition, let's say. Human thoughts are too complex to understand. I'm just a novice painter, barely able to categorize different colors."

The Sorting Hat, unaware of the passage of time, curiously inquired about Hermione's thoughts.

"So, where do you want to go?"

"I want to be in the same House as Nietzsche!"

"Which one... ah, he's right behind you, dear." The Sorting Hat mumbled. "Although Slytherin would suit an ambitious witch like you, I wouldn't recommend it. Slytherin now places too much emphasis on bloodlines."

Hermione noticed its choice of words.

"Now?"

"Ahem... Your adventurous spirit is too rich. I've made up my mind... Gryffindor!" It announced loudly, then whispered, "Don't worry, achieving your ambitions is a great adventure in itself."

When Hermione removed the hat, she realized that the people below were whispering and staring at her.

At that moment, Professor McGonagall gently guided her down, whispering, "You were up there for about five or six minutes, Miss Granger."

"That long? It felt..."

Hermione noticed that most others had been sorted in under thirty seconds.

"I understand. Now go ahead," Professor McGonagall's usually stern face relaxed slightly. "I was the same when I was your age. It's actually a good sign."

But as she looked up again, her faint smile disappeared, and her expression grew serious once more.

"Next, Nietzsche John Holmes!"

Nietzsche looked at the hat with some distaste. He placed his cane against the chair and, fighting the urge to clean it, gently placed the hat on his head.

His movements were slow, unlike the others who had quickly pulled the hat onto their heads.

As soon as he put it on, a mutter echoed in his mind.

"Another complicated one. Can't I get someone simple for once?"

Before Nietzsche could start disliking the Sorting Hat, it had already started disliking him.

"Hurry up, any House will do. Gryffindor, like the last one."

"What's the rush? 'Hurry up, any House will do'—do you think this is chopping vegetables?" The Sorting Hat mimicked his tone, grumbling. "Honestly, no patience at all."

But the Sorting Hat was also conflicted.

Although it found dealing with such complex wizards troublesome, there was a unique kind of joy in it.

"I can sense your willingness to help others... It's like the sun, ho ho, it reminds me of Lady Helga. Hufflepuff? In that regard, it suits you quite well."

"Though I might be rambling, your attitude toward ideals is even greater than that of the girl before you. While you don't seem to care about pursuing glory, believe me, Slytherin would also be a good fit for someone like you."

"So troublesome... such trouble~ How about you chat with me for a bit? Say whatever comes to mind."

One second it was sorting, and the next, it had started to make small talk.

Nietzsche responded in his mind, "What do you want to talk about?"

"If you'd like to discuss your ideals, that would be nice. You see, I divide students not only by their traits of honesty, courage, ambition, or wisdom, but sometimes also by their goals."

Ideals, unlike fantasies, are goals for which humans strive throughout their lives.

So what was Nietzsche's ideal?

Perhaps it started on the day he first discovered magic and named it the 'Force.'

Adopted by the Watsons, Nietzsche grew up in the Holmes household, where he was exposed to classic cases. After discovering his own unique abilities, he always felt that the future needed him.

It was an instinct, a longing for a utopia.

So Nietzsche responded to the Sorting Hat's question with another question.

"Do you think the sun finds it boring to rise in the east and set in the west every day?"