[Third Person's PoV]
After Arthur had taken his seat at the Gryffindor table, he turned his attention eagerly to the line of first-years still waiting to be sorted. His eyes scanned the group with interest.
The next name Professor McGonagall called out with clear, precise enunciation was, "Neville Longbottom!"
A pudgy, nervous-looking boy with a round face stumbled out of the line. Neville looked terrified as he made his way towards the stool, his wide eyes darting between the house tables as though the entire castle were staring directly at him—which, to be fair, it was. As he reached the stool, he nearly tripped over thin air in his nervousness, catching himself just in time with a startled yelp.
Once seated, Professor McGonagall took the Sorting Hat by the brim and, still wary after its earlier mischief, pulled it firmly over Neville's head. The moment it covered him, Neville let out a muffled squeak of surprise and flailed his arms in confusion as everything went dark.
"Oops! Apologies, Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall said with mild embarrassment as she adjusted the hat to sit properly on his head.
The Great Hall burst into laughter at the display, and even Arthur chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Neville's face was now as red as a tomato, his ears burning with shame.
The Sorting Hat hummed thoughtfully for a few seconds before proclaiming in a loud, echoing voice, "Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table erupted into applause and cheers as Neville clumsily got off the stool. He was halfway to the table when McGonagall called after him, "Mr. Longbottom, the hat please. We still have many more students to sort."
"Oh! Right—sorry, Professor!" Neville mumbled, cheeks darkening even more as he turned back, removed the hat from his head, and returned it sheepishly before hurrying off to the Gryffindor table.
One student after another continued to be called and sorted, the hat deciding their fates in seconds. The next name called out was met with a different energy entirely.
"Draco Malfoy!"
A pale boy with slicked-back blond hair stepped confidently from the line, his expression oozing arrogance. He strutted towards the stool as though the ceremony were beneath him, not bothering to hide his smug superiority. Arthur raised an amused brow and smirked faintly. He was entertained by the boy's attitude.
The Sorting Hat barely touched Malfoy's head before it shouted decisively, "Slytherin!"
Draco gave a pleased huff, as if to say "Obviously," and marched over to the Slytherin table with his chin held high.
The names continued to be called, one after the other, as the Sorting Hat placed students into their respective houses. Arthur's eyes wandered to Merlin, who looked thoroughly unimpressed by the entire process. Her silver hair earned her a few curious glances from the other students, and her expression clearly said she'd rather be anywhere else.
As the Sorting progressed through the alphabet, Arthur noticed the line getting noticeably shorter. They were now into the P's. Arthur's eyes shifted to a skinny boy wearing glasses, standing stiffly near the back of the group. The boy looked scrawny and malnourished, his hair messy and his frame small. A lightning-shaped scar peeked out from beneath his bangs, and he seemed to fidget anxiously, glancing nervously between the tables.
And then, Professor McGonagall called out a name that caused the hall to erupt into whispers.
"Harry Potter!"
The name struck the room like a lightning bolt. Murmurs surged around each table, louder and more frantic than when Arthur had been called.
"Harry Potter?"
"THE Harry Potter?"
"Did you see the scar? That has to be him!"
"Do you think if I ask for an autograph, he'll give me one?"
Harry swallowed visibly and made his way to the front. He didn't meet anyone's gaze as he quickly walked to the Sorting Hat and sat down on the stool. There was a moment of stillness before McGonagall placed the hat carefully on his head, and the hall seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
Arthur saw the Sorting Hat's mouth moving slightly, though no sound could be heard from their distance. Harry's lips were barely moving, his eyes tightly shut as he whispered, "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin…"
The Sorting Hat paused for a moment, clearly engaging in conversation with the boy beneath it. Then, with a sudden burst of volume that echoed through the hall, it bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted into wild applause and cheering, easily the loudest so far. Students stood and clapped enthusiastically, some pounding on the table in excitement. The sound was deafening, reverberating through the stone walls of the Great Hall. The other three houses looked notably less thrilled, a few students exchanging disappointed glances or muttering quietly.
As Harry stood and made his way toward the Gryffindor table, Arthur watched him with interest. A tall, older ginger-haired student—clearly related to Ron, and identifiable as Percy by the shiny Prefect badge on his robes—stood up and shook Harry's hand warmly. Harry looked overwhelmed by the attention, his eyes wide as he nodded and tried to smile.
Then, two identical redheaded boys jumped up from the bench—Fred and George Weasley, without a doubt. With matching grins, they linked arms and began skipping in circles around the table, chanting with theatrical flair, "We got Potter! We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Harry, now visibly embarrassed but also smiling, took a seat across from the ghost in the ruff—Sir Nicholas, who Arthur recalled being referred to as "Nearly Headless Nick." The seat happened to be right beside Arthur.
Looking up toward the High Table, Harry's eyes found Hagrid, who gave him a big grin and a wink, followed by a thumbs-up. That small gesture seemed to comfort Harry, and he returned the smile.
He then turned slightly, perhaps to glance back at the sorting, but his gaze stopped on Arthur instead. Arthur offered him a polite smile and extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. You can call me Arthur."
"Harry," Harry replied nervously, shaking Arthur's hand. The handshake was brief but sincere. They both turned their attention back to the sorting ceremony, the number of students waiting to be sorted having dwindled to just a handful.
Professor McGonagall called out the next name on the list: "Mer-lynn Syrme!"
Arthur straightened instantly. His attention snapped to the front as Merlin walked calmly toward the stool, silver hair shining under the enchanted ceiling's twilight. Despite being only eleven years old, she carried herself with an innate poise. There was a gentle, enchanting quality about her—partly from her succubus heritage, though her charm manifested as an innocent sort of allure more than anything overt. Her round baby face, rosy cheeks, and peculiar violet eyes drew curious glances from all corners of the hall.
She sat down on the stool with elegance and closed her eyes, prepared for the sorting.
Arthur, meanwhile, was visibly tense. Harry looked over at him, raising an eyebrow at the sight of him muttering under his breath with clasped hands. "Please be in Gryffindor. Please be in Gryffindor. Please be in Gryffindor…"
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat called out, loud and clear.
"Gosh darn it!" Arthur groaned, slamming his fist on the table with a frustrated thump, causing a few heads to turn. His carefully maintained noble demeanor cracked just for a moment as he slumped forward with a pout.
Merlin turned her head as she walked off the platform, making eye contact with Arthur as he mouthed dramatically, "Why?"
She responded to the question with a cheeky smile and an exaggerated shrug, mouthing, "I suppose it's just meant to be~" She giggled quietly at Arthur's dismayed expression before joining the Ravenclaw table, where several older students were already whispering among themselves about her appearance.
"Is she a friend of yours?" Harry asked curiously, noting Arthur's emotional reaction.
"Yeah…" Arthur muttered, his voice laced with disappointment. "You could say we grew up together, in a way. I was really hoping we'd be sorted into the same house."
Harry gave a sympathetic nod. He understood that sentiment of wanting to be in the sake house as your friend all too well. He glanced toward Ron and silently wished his first and only friend from the train ride would end up in Gryffindor as well.
Arthur, now thoroughly disheartened, barely paid attention to the remaining names being called. He rested his cheek in his hand and sighed, casting occasional forlorn glances toward the Ravenclaw table.
Then came the next name: "Ronald Weasley!"
"Gryffindor!"
Cheers broke out again as Ron walked toward the table, visibly relieved and smiling awkwardly. He sat down beside Harry, who clapped loudly for him, matching the excitement of the rest of the house.
"Well done, Ron," Percy said with a pompous attitude from across the table, nodding formally at his younger brother.
Arthur merely rolled his eyes. 'What a great year this is going to turn out to be,' he thought sarcastically. He wasn't sure why, but at that exact moment, he wouldn't have minded trading Ron for Merlin—without a second thought. Not that he had anything against Ron personally.
The final name echoed through the hall: "Blaise Zabini."
The dark-skinned boy with sharp features and an aloof expression stepped forward. The Sorting Hat barely had time to settle before it shouted, "Slytherin!"
And just like that, the sorting ceremony was over. The line of first-years had vanished. Professor McGonagall stepped forward and gently picked up the stool and the Sorting Hat, signaling the end of the event.
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