They climbed a flight of stone steps and gathered before a towering oak door. Hagrid raised his massive fist and knocked three times on the castle gate.
The door swung open immediately. Standing in the doorway was a tall, stern-looking witch clad in emerald-green robes, her black hair neatly tucked back.
"First-years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."
She pulled the door open wider, revealing a grand entrance hall. Like Gringotts, the walls were of stone, lined with blazing torches that cast flickering shadows. The ceiling soared so high it was barely visible. At the far end stood an opulent marble staircase leading upwards.
Following Professor McGonagall across the stone floor, they heard a low hum of voices from the room to the right — clearly, the upper-year students had already arrived.
But the professor led the first-years to a small empty chamber on the opposite side of the hall. They crowded in shoulder to shoulder, some barely managing to squeeze through the door, eyes wide as they anxiously took in their surroundings.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you must each be sorted into your House. Sorting is a significant ceremony, as your House will be your family at Hogwarts. You will attend classes with your Housemates, sleep in your House dormitories, and spend your free time in the House common room.
"There are four Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has its own proud history and has nurtured outstanding witches and wizards. During your time here, your achievements will earn points for your House, while any rule-breaking will result in deductions. At the end of the year, the House with the highest score will be awarded the House Cup—a great honor. I hope each of you will strive to bring glory to your House, whichever one you join.
"In a few minutes, the Sorting Ceremony will begin in front of the whole school. I suggest you tidy yourselves up a bit while you wait—stand tall."
She glanced over the group, then added, "I'll return when it's time. Please wait quietly."
With that, she left the room.
Susan tugged gently at Wang Yong's robe. "What is it?" he asked.
In a whisper, she said, "How exactly does the Sorting work?"
"Don't worry," Wang Yong replied. "It'll all be arranged—just go with the flow."
"Mm." Susan nodded obediently. The Bones family had long ties with Hufflepuff. It was likely she'd end up there too.
Suddenly, there was a startled gasp behind them. Wang Yong turned just in time to see around twenty ghosts drift straight through the wall. They were pearly white, translucent, gliding effortlessly through the room. Most didn't even glance at the first-years, murmuring to each other, seemingly deep in debate.
One of them, a plump little friar, said earnestly, "We must forgive—forget, I say! He deserves another chance—"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves enough chances? He's given all of us ridiculous nicknames! You know full well he doesn't even qualify as a proper ghost—Hold on, what are you all doing here?"
The last voice came from a ghost in a ruffled collar and tight-fitting costume who had suddenly noticed the first-years.
No one answered.
"New students, eh?" The plump friar smiled warmly. "I imagine you're here for the Sorting?"
A few students nodded silently.
"Hope you end up in Hufflepuff!" the friar beamed. "That was my House back in the day."
"Move along now," a sharp, thin voice interrupted. "The Sorting's about to begin."
Wang Yong gazed at the drifting souls. So this is what spirits look like in the magical world. Tangible, visible—far less terrifying than the formless ones in ghost stories. If he now possessed magical abilities, would he be able to see ghosts back in his own world too?
Professor McGonagall returned. The ghosts floated away, passing through the opposite wall and vanishing from sight.
"Form a single line," she instructed the first-years. "Follow me."
They filed out of the chamber, crossed the grand hall, and entered the Great Hall through a pair of magnificent double doors.
The other students were already seated at four long tables stretching the length of the hall. Above them floated thousands of candles, suspended in midair, casting a warm golden glow. On the tables, gleaming golden plates and goblets shimmered under the candlelight.
At the far end, on a raised dais, sat the faculty at a separate long table.
Professor McGonagall led the first-years to the front of the hall, where they lined up facing the rest of the school. The staff sat behind them, and hundreds of curious faces stared ahead, their expressions ghostly under the candlelight, like pale lanterns.
Wang Yong glanced upward. The ceiling above sparkled with stars against a velvet-black sky.
The ceiling of Hogwarts mimicked the sky outside. Wang Yong couldn't help but be awed by the grandeur. This wasn't just a noble school—it was nobility incarnate. Even Buckingham Palace would pale in comparison.
Professor McGonagall gently placed a four-legged stool before the first-years, then set a very old, patched, and grimy wizard's hat on top.
The Great Hall fell silent.
Then the hat moved.
A wide tear near the brim opened like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:
You may not think I'm much to see,
But don't judge by what you find on me.
If you can name a hat more fair,
I'll gladly eat myself, I swear.
Shiny top hats, polished black,
Silken ones with perfect stacks—
None can match what I can do,
For I'm the Sorting Hat, it's true.
The thoughts you hide inside your head,
I see them all, no need for dread.
Just put me on, I'll read your mind,
And tell you where your House you'll find.
Perhaps you'll be in brave Gryffindor,
Where daring hearts beat strong at core.
Their nerve and chivalry stand out—
They make the lion's House, no doubt.
Or maybe kind Hufflepuff's your place,
Where loyalty and patience grace.
Hard work and honesty they prize,
And toil with smiles beneath the skies.
You could be wise in Ravenclaw,
Where clever minds obey no law.
Their thirst for learning, deep and wide,
Unites sharp wits on every side.
Or into Slytherin you'll go,
Where cunning friends may help you grow.
Though some pursue their goals with guile,
Ambition fuels them all the while.
So don't be scared, and don't delay—
Come try me on without dismay.
For I'm the Hat who knows it all,
And where you'll fit within these halls!
When the Sorting Hat finished its song, the Great Hall erupted in applause. The hat gave a deep bow to each of the four House tables before falling still once more.
Hearing the song, Wang Yong couldn't help but feel conflicted. He wasn't particularly brave, didn't relish hard labor, wasn't especially clever, and wasn't exactly sly either—though he did, at times, resort to whatever means necessary to get results. If judged strictly, he probably didn't fit into any of the Houses.
"Xiao Yi," he murmured in thought, "can you shield my mind from the Sorting Hat?"
"Of course."
"I mean, let it see only what it wants to see."