The Sorting continued.
"Susan Bones!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
…
When Hermione's turn came, Julien watched her practically sprint to the stool, sitting ramrod straight with nerves. The hat wobbled on her head for what felt like forever before bellowing:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief, her face splitting into a radiant smile. She dashed toward the Gryffindor table, then twisted around to find Julien. When their eyes met, he gave her a big thumbs-up.
"Liriya!"
Still wearing her old hemp cloak over her school robes, Liriya looked completely out of place among the other students.
The moment the hat touched her silver hair it shouted:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Julien breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Good—she ended up in friendly Hufflepuff. Anywhere else might have been rough for her.
Liriya walked to the yellow-and-black table, back straight and proud, but her steps seemed a little lighter.
"Isabella Rosier!"
As expected, the name sent another ripple of whispers through the students and staff. Forty or fifty years ago the Rosier name had been infamous across Europe—loyal followers of the first Dark Lord, Grindelwald.
Why is a Rosier at Hogwarts? Weren't they on bad terms with Dumbledore?
Isabella ignored the murmurs. She walked forward with graceful poise, expression calm.
The hat stayed silent on her head for a long time—long enough for the Slytherin table to start whispering. Finally it declared:
"SLYTHERIN!"
Isabella gave a small nod and headed for the green-and-silver table, spine straight, no hesitation at all. The Slytherins gave her the loudest applause so far.
Julien watched her go until their eyes met briefly. A complicated emotion flashed across her face before she looked away.
The rest of the Sorting went smoothly. Harry, Ron, and Neville all went to Gryffindor. Malfoy and his two goons ended up in Slytherin.
Harry Potter's Sorting received the loudest cheers of the night.
When the last name had been called, Dumbledore rose, arms wide, clearly pleased with the results.
"Let the feast begin!"
The empty golden plates instantly filled with food. Even after a lifetime of incredible Eastern cuisine in his previous life, Julien had to admit the Hogwarts start-of-term banquet was an outstanding spread.
Of course the feast wasn't just about eating—it was the perfect time for first-years to meet, chat, and exchange information. Especially for the pure-blood kids, it was prime territory for trading gossip and alliances.
While Ron attacked a chicken leg with both hands like a man possessed, key details about the new students had already spread to every House table.
"Tch, thought it was someone important. Turns out he's just another Mud… related to the Evans family." Malfoy sneered toward Julien's table.
"Malfoy!" Gemma Farley cut him off sharply. "Watch your language in public. That word isn't said out loud—especially not where the Head of House might hear."
Malfoy flushed but nodded. "Fine. I'll be careful."
Isabella watched Gemma thoughtfully. New here, testing the boundaries.
Marcus Flint, who clearly already knew Malfoy, swapped seats with Goyle and clapped the younger boy on the shoulder. "Relax, Draco. Gemma means well. So—how's your father? Last time we spoke he mentioned you're keen on Quidditch…"
…
"Naturally I'll train with you. Let's see what you've got."
…
"Exactly! Though I have to say our school brooms might not be up to your family's standards—could hold you back a bit."
…
"Of course the Head of House has his own difficulties."
…
"Perfect. I'll speak to him too. Thank you in advance, Uncle Lucius."
No wonder this big ape is Slytherin's male prefect, Isabella thought. Compared to him, Draco's still just a sulky kid.
"Hey, Eliza—can I call you Eliza?" A friendly voice suddenly spoke beside her.
Isabella turned. Gemma had slid into the seat on her left without her noticing.
Isabella set down her cutlery with perfect elegance and nodded. "Of course. My friends all call me that." She put extra weight on the word friends.
…
"Hi, Liriya! Just Liriya?"
A tall, handsome boy appeared in front of her—the same one she'd noticed on the platform.
"I'm Cedric Diggory. Welcome to Hufflepuff. I'm sure you'll never regret choosing us."
"Hello. I'm from the far north of Norway. My full name is Liria Sigurddóttir, but everyone just uses Liriya. Sigurd was my father's name—dóttir means daughter."
"Got it, Liriya. Welcome again. Secret tip: if there's anything on the table you want more of, just tell me—I'll run to the kitchens. One of Hufflepuff's best perks!" Cedric grinned.
"Thank you." Liriya found the warm prefect instantly likeable. (If he'd looked like Marcus Flint she would have felt the opposite.)
"By the way, your home's closer to Durmstrang, isn't it?" Cedric asked casually.
"Hmph. I'd never go to that dark-wizard nest," Liriya replied sharply—stronger than Cedric expected. "My tribe has an agreement with Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Fair enough. Hogwarts is the best school in Europe anyway. Let me introduce you to the others…" Cedric seemed to understand and changed the subject smoothly.
…
Gryffindor had taken quite a few first-years this year—almost as many as the ever-popular Hufflepuff.
"Lucky!" Ron cheered, grabbing the last chicken leg.
The moment he bit into it, every dish on the table vanished, instantly replaced by an array of desserts.
Hermione shot Ron a disgusted look at his table manners, then glanced toward the Ravenclaw table. Julien was gesturing animatedly, making the ash-blonde prefect and several girls around him laugh until they were leaning on each other. Hermione huffed under her breath.
During her own Sorting she had wavered between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for ages. The second she decided on Ravenclaw, the hat had shouted Gryffindor.
"Percy, who's that sitting next to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked. He'd felt the man staring at him with clear dislike, and his scar had given a sharp throb.
"Oh, that's the Slytherin Head of House—Professor Snape."
"Looks like a bat, doesn't he?" Ron muttered.
Hermione shook her head again and turned her gaze elsewhere.
…
At the staff table, Dumbledore added another spoonful of sugar to his honey-lemon tea and murmured to himself, "A triangle is the most stable shape… let's hope this choice was the right one."