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A Sorting Ceremony, just for him.
Despite his expectations, when the moment arrived, Hodge couldn't help but feel nervous.
Evelina Selma waved at him before heading off to join her friends. Hodge followed Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall, immediately captivated by the extravagant holiday decorations. Hundreds of bats swooped around glowing pumpkins floating in midair, colorful ribbons cascaded from the enchanted ceiling, framing the gaps between the four long tables, and the sky above shimmered with a serene, mysterious deep purple studded with stars.
He was so entranced that he barely noticed they'd reached the front of the hall, where the staff table stood. Professor McGonagall placed a stool and the Sorting Hat in a corner, gesturing for him to wait quietly.
A few teachers were already seated.
Hodge tried to guess who they were. The most obvious was Hagrid, his massive frame taking up two or three spaces. He wore a shaggy fur coat, his hair and beard a tangled mess that revealed only the upper half of his face. The goblet in his hand looked comically small, like a tiny shot glass. Hagrid stared at Hodge, his expression flickering with curiosity and puzzlement.
Next to him sat Professor Flitwick, a stark contrast to Hagrid. Diminutive and impeccably neat, Flitwick wore a tailored dress robe, his hair slicked back with glossy precision. When he caught Hodge's curious gaze, he offered a kind smile.
A few more teachers trickled in, but Hodge didn't know their names. He could only guess their subjects—like the stout witch who smelled of herbs and earth, surely the Herbology professor.
The buzz of chatter in the hall grew louder, and Hodge felt countless eyes on him.
From a table near the wall, he heard a sharp gasp.
Turning, Hodge waved at a stunned Harry, a mischievous spark in his mind.
Harry, for his part, was utterly floored.
He felt as if the past two months of magical life had been a dream, as if he'd just dozed off in the Dursleys' living room. Like something out of a TV show, when you see someone in a dream who doesn't fit but feels eerily familiar, it means you're about to wake up.
"Harry, why are you pinching yourself so hard?" Ron asked, puzzled. He glanced toward Hodge, squinting. "I feel like I've seen him before. Weird, where was it?"
Harry stared at Ron, dazed.
"You're Ron?"
"Of course."
"Ron Weasley? With five older brothers, a pet rat named Scabbers, and we go to a magic school together?"
Ron looked alarmed.
"P-Percy—Fred! George! Come quick, Harry's lost it!"
The Great Hall thrummed with festive energy.
Finally, a tall, thin figure with flowing silver hair and a matching beard strode in, exuding vitality. It was Dumbledore—Hodge knew him instantly, no question. He stared, unable to look away, and Dumbledore seemed to sense it, giving him a slight nod.
Dumbledore stepped onto the dais, leaned down to exchange a few words with McGonagall, then took his seat. He tapped his goblet, and the hall gradually quieted. Hodge felt hundreds of eyes converge on him.
"Welcome, everyone, to the Halloween Feast, as we gather once again," Dumbledore said warmly. "Before we begin, we have a small interlude. I'm sure you've noticed a new face among us, arriving a tad late…"
A wave of murmurs erupted, students craning their necks, eager to know more.
"Two months late, you're joking!" the Weasley twins shouted.
At the front, McGonagall moved the stool and Sorting Hat to a more prominent spot, visible to all. The hall's chatter faded as everyone realized what was coming. Sure enough, McGonagall called out, "Hodge Blackthorn!"
Hodge took a deep breath, stepped forward under the weight of burning stares, and sat on the stool. He picked up the tattered Sorting Hat and placed it on his head. The hall fell silent.
For a dozen seconds, nothing happened. Then—
Under everyone's gaze, the hat twitched, a wide seam splitting open at its brim. A faint voice whispered in Hodge's ear, "I can't see anything. You need to let go a bit."
"What do you mean? What do I do?" Hodge murmured, speaking to the voice above him.
"Don't worry, just talk as you would with a friend, open your heart…" the Sorting Hat said patiently. Then its voice shifted, echoing in his mind. "Oh, you're doing well… no wonder…"
"What's that?" Hodge asked.
"A natural Occlumens… you can ask questions in your mind, it's not hard for you… oh, you've made a new friend, what's her name? Evelina Selma? I remember her Sorting, quite the fool…"
Hodge suddenly felt less rushed.
But the Sorting Hat didn't linger on the topic.
"…Your mind is surprisingly mature, with a thirst for knowledge…" it continued. "I'd suggest choosing between Slytherin and Ravenclaw—" Hodge wasn't sure how, but he focused on picturing himself flipping through books, sending the image to the hat. "You've already figured out how to share memories… impressive… you want to know what this choice means… a balance between knowledge and power? They're not separate… you have a sharp mind, use it well… Ravenclaw!"
The Sorting Hat shouted the name to the entire hall.
Hodge exhaled in relief, removed the hat, and walked to the Ravenclaw table.
He was greeted with enthusiasm. Evelina waved eagerly, and a tall boy pulled him over, clapping his shoulder with gusto. "Welcome to Ravenclaw." Hodge noticed the P badge on his chest, like the one he'd seen on Percy—a Ravenclaw prefect. Others clapped warmly.
He was seated among the younger students. A brown-haired boy extended a hand. "Terry Boot." Hodge shook it. "Hodge Blackthorn, but I guess you knew that."
"How'd you get here so late?"
Terry was so curious he ignored the food that had just appeared on the table.
Hodge gave a brief account, explaining how he'd awakened his magic at St. Mungo's. Terry's face lit up with awe, and Hodge kept the mood light, sharing quirky stories that soon had him bonding with the group around him.
They traded names: Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecombe, Padma Patil…
During a lull, Hodge glanced at the staff table and noticed an empty seat. Unlike during the Sorting, it wasn't obscured by Hagrid. He realized who was missing.
"Is a professor not here?" he asked Terry.
Terry, munching on a dessert, peered at the staff table. "Huh? Let me see… yeah, looks like it. Professor Quirrell…" Hodge's stomach sank, but before he could dwell on it, a figure burst in, shouting at Dumbledore, "Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."
The hall erupted into chaos.
Hodge stared at Quirrell's lopsided turban, wondering what horrors it concealed.
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