Julien smiled without answering. His mind had already slipped quietly into the private sanctuary of his Magical Resonance Library.
Inside, every candle burned bright. Murphy the cat was sprawled across a fresh stack of books, tail flicking lazily across the pages.
"Hey, Mr. Librarian," Julien's astral form strolled between the shelves, "big night tonight. Got any special 'Welcome-to-Hogwarts' guides lying around?"
Murphy cracked one amber eye open and yawned. "Sure. How about How to Stay Calm in Front of the Sorting Hat or Thirty Embarrassing Ways to Greet Dumbledore?"
Julien shook his head. "I'm more worried about what the Hat's going to see."
Both of Murphy's mismatched eyes opened now, the silver one glinting with mischief. "Relax. The Sorting Hat isn't Legilimency. It only feels your desires, your fears, the truest echo of your soul."
"So basically the same as you?"
"Me? I don't just feel them—I can smell all those ridiculous daydreams floating around in your head."
"Oh? Like what?"
"Like imagining you could get sorted into all four Houses at once. Spend days fighting in Gryffindor, nights scheming in Slytherin, weekends reading in Ravenclaw, and always show up for meals in Hufflepuff." Murphy's voice dripped with disdain.
Julien's face warmed. "I'm not that greedy! I just think… a choice shouldn't be decided by a single hat."
"Sanguis non facit, sed eligit." Murphy suddenly recited in perfect Latin. "Blood does not make the man; choice does. Your grandfather carved those words on the chamber wall. Now they're carved in your heart. The Hat only gives you a starting point. The path you walk is still yours to choose."
Julien fell silent. Outside, the lake wind ruffled his hair. In the distance the spires of Hogwarts Castle rose sharp and glowing against the night, like something out of a dream.
A chorus of "Wow!" rose from the first-years.
The boats reached the shore. Hagrid led them up the steps to a pair of enormous oak doors.
At his thunderous knock the doors swung open, flooding the entrance with warm light.
A tall, stern witch in emerald robes stood waiting—Professor McGonagall, the same one who had visited Julien's home.
She looked every bit as formidable as before, eyes sharp as an eagle's. Behind her a magical fire crackled in the hearth, and beyond that lay the grand double doors to the Great Hall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," her voice rang clear and strong. "Before the feast begins, you will be Sorted into your Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. There you will learn, live, and find friends for life."
She paused, her gaze lingering on Julien for the briefest second before moving on.
"I'll go prepare. Use this time to straighten yourselves up."
"Do you know how the Sorting works?" Hermione asked, tugging her robes straight. "It won't be a test, will it? I memorised every first-year book."
"Ron and I were talking about it on the train," Harry said. "His brothers told him it might involve a duel."
"A duel? With who?" Hermione looked horrified. Neville and the golden-haired girl both shivered.
Julien had already recognised the blonde girl from the Leaky Cauldron—Hannah Abbott. With the future "Sword Saint" and "Iron Hat King" both present, the gears of destiny were clearly turning.
"Maybe we have to fight some magical creature," Ron offered uncertainly.
"Yeah, I heard the same," a short brown-haired boy chimed in, squeezing closer. "Hi, I'm Seamus Finnigan. Someone told me it's a dragon."
"Dragon!" The word rippled through the crowd; the atmosphere instantly crackled with nervous excitement.
Only Julien stayed calm. He stepped forward and shook Seamus's hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Caelum Julien Black."
"Wait—your accent, your name… you're French, right? Why didn't you go to Beauxbatons?"
"Oh, their entrance exam involves wrestling a troll. I failed, so I thought I'd try Hogwarts instead." Julien's face stayed perfectly straight while his left index finger absently brushed his nose.
"Don't listen to him," Hermione cut in, recognising the tell-tale lie gesture. "Think about it—would the school really make brand-new students fight dragons and trolls? Unless you're Gilderoy Lockhart or something."
No one asked who Gilderoy Lockhart was, but Hermione's logic made sense. Everyone relaxed.
"Hmph. Honestly. Poverty and ignorance really do limit the imagination." A haughty voice cut through the group. Draco Malfoy.
Ron glared. Draco tossed his platinum hair. "I'm not talking about you, Weasley. I mean all of you." He waved at the circle around Harry and Julien.
"Father told me the real Hogwarts entrance test is a Quidditch match." Draco smirked. "Now that's a sport worthy of proper wizards."
The idea spread like wildfire. Dragons were ridiculous, but Quidditch? That sounded almost believable.
At that moment Professor McGonagall returned. "The Sorting Ceremony is ready. Form a line and follow me."
The Great Hall was vast, supported by almost no columns—an impossible feat of magic, Julien thought.
Thousands of floating candles bathed everything in golden light.
"Look at the ceiling—it's not real, it's enchanted. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History." —Hermione, of course.
At the far end stood the staff table. About twenty teachers sat in a row, most smiling down at the nervous first-years.
In the centre, the white-haired, long-bearded, twinkling-eyed old man could only be Albus Dumbledore.
Below the staff table four long House tables stretched out, each with its own signature colours:
Red and gold for Gryffindor.
Bronze and blue for Ravenclaw.
Yellow and black for Hufflepuff.
Green and silver for Slytherin.
In one corner, on a simple stool, rested a battered, patched leather hat.
Professor McGonagall explained: each student would simply place the hat on their head, and the Sorting Hat would assign them to a House.
Just as every first-year stared in awe at the ancient hat, the folds at its brim suddenly split open like a mouth, and it began to sing: