16: Chapter 16 The Choice of the Sorting Hat

The Castle gates opened, and Professor McGonagall stood behind them.

She wore deep green robes, her hat brim pulled low, making her seem even more rigid than the stone walls. When Hagrid handed the first-years over to her, his tone was uncharacteristically restrained.

"They're all here, Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall nodded, her gaze sweeping over the group of first-years, pausing briefly on Harry's forehead before quickly moving on.

Allen stood at the back of the crowd, holding that empty suitcase, so sleepy he wanted to lean against the wall.

Draco squeezed in beside him, lowering his voice: "When we sort, you'd better not go to Gryffindor."

Allen didn't look at him: "Do you control the hat?"

Draco was choked off.

Goyle asked Crabbe from behind: "Can we eat before the sorting?"

Crabbe thought seriously: "Probably not."

"That's so unreasonable."

Draco turned back and glared at them: "Shut up."

Professor McGonagall turned to lead the way.

The first-years walked through the entrance hall toward the Great Hall. As soon as the doors opened, a buzz of noise poured out.

Four long tables were filled with students, hundreds upon hundreds of candles suspended overhead, the ceiling showing the night sky. Hermione was whispering to Harry in front, explaining that it was magic, not a real ceiling. Ron listened, only half-understanding, while Neville was still worried about his toad.

Allen just glanced at the ceiling, then withdrew his attention.

The structural space of the Castle was more complex than it appeared from the outside.

Staircases, corridors, walls, ceilings—all were layered with different traces of magic. What ordinary students saw was spectacle; what he saw was a massive spatial engineering project that had been running for a thousand years.

If this place were taken apart for research, it would be enough to keep him occupied for three years.

Of course, that was on the condition that Dumbledore didn't drag him off for tea.

At the high table, the Professors were already seated. Snape sat in his black robes, his face even less friendly than the bottom of a cauldron. Quirrell, wrapped in his turban, huddled in his seat, his fingers moving restlessly. Dumbledore sat in the center, his silver beard hanging to his chest, looking very kind.

Allen didn't look for long.

Kindness didn't mean safety.

Professor McGonagall placed an old hat on a four-legged stool.

The Great Hall went quiet.

The hat split open and began to sing.

The lyrics were long and winding, the main content being nothing more than bragging about each of the four houses. Allen wanted to sleep halfway through, though several first-years nearby were listening quite earnestly.

Draco frowned: "Does this hat sing every year?"

Allen said: "A Hogwarts tradition."

"No wonder no one has reformed it."

When the hat finished singing, applause broke out in the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall unfolded a piece of parchment and began reading names.

"Hannah Abbott!"

"Hufflepuff!"

The Hufflepuff long table applauded.

"Susan Bones!"

"Hufflepuff!"

One name after another passed.

When Hermione was called up, her steps were a bit hurried. The hat paused on her head for a moment.

"Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor side cheered. Hermione let out a breath of relief and quickly sat down.

Draco hummed in a low voice: "The nerd house didn't take her?"

Allen said: "Ravenclaw doesn't take everyone who can memorize books."

Draco looked at him: "You're correcting me on this too?"

"Afraid you'll embarrass yourself."

Draco shut up.

When it was Draco's turn, the hat shouted as soon as it touched his hair.

"Slytherin!"

Applause rang out from the Slytherin long table. Before Draco walked over, he specifically looked at Allen.

The meaning was clear.

Don't choose wrong.

Crabbe and Goyle also entered Slytherin one after another. The first thing Goyle did after sitting down was to check if there was food on the table. After discovering there wasn't, his expression collapsed.

The list continued down.

"Harry Potter!"

The Great Hall was as lively as an explosion.

All the students craned their necks; even the Professors' table showed more interest. Harry froze where he was, and Ron pushed him before he walked toward the four-legged stool.

Allen stood at the edge of the crowd, watching quietly.

The Chosen One had arrived, and the effect was even better than he had estimated. The entire Great Hall's attention was focused on Harry; no one cared that there was another Potter behind him.

That was just right.

Harry sat down, and the hat covered his head. It took longer than it had for Draco.

Someone on the Gryffindor table craned their neck, and there were people waiting on the Slytherin side too. Draco sat by the long table, his face full of annoyance.

A moment later, the hat shouted:

"Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers.

The Weasley twins slapped the table and shouted: "We got a Potter! We got a Potter!"

Ron smiled very hard, and Hermione applauded too. When Harry walked toward the Gryffindor table, he visibly relaxed.

After he sat down, his first reaction wasn't to look at Ron, but to turn back and look for Allen.

Allen didn't move.

The two locked eyes across the Great Hall.

The smile on Harry's face faded a little.

Allen avoided his gaze and continued waiting for Professor McGonagall to read the list.

Harry went to Gryffindor.

The original timeline hadn't shifted.

But that bit of disappointment was real, too.

Relatives at the same school, sorted into different houses, separated by four long tables. For Harry, this wasn't a choice; it was being left behind.

Professor McGonagall continued reading.

"Allen Potter."

The noise in the Great Hall, which had just died down, rose again.

"Another Potter?"

"Who is he?"

"Harry's brother?"

"No, I heard earlier he's a cousin."

On the Slytherin side, Draco sat up straight. On the Gryffindor side, Harry also lifted his head.

Allen placed his empty suitcase by his feet and walked toward the four-legged stool.

His steps were not fast.

When he sat down, he could feel the scrutiny coming from all directions. Curiosity, speculation, contempt, judgment—all mixed together, very noisy.

Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

The brim blocked his vision.

The next second, something touched the edge of his consciousness.

It wasn't the forceful intrusion of Legilimency, but more like an old key trying to find a keyhole. It was practiced, gentle, and carried the judgment rules left by the four founders.

The Sorting Hat was rummaging through.

Courage?

Yes, but not the kind Gryffindor liked.

Wisdom?

Enough, but Ravenclaw wanted the pursuit of knowledge itself, while he wanted things he could use.

Loyalty?

Don't bother.

Ambition?

That didn't need faking.

The hat probed a little deeper.

And then it hit a blank.

It wasn't a memory gap, nor was it the walling-off left by a Memory Charm. It was an entire section that had been cordoned off, clean to a fault. The hat paused.

Allen heard a very old voice ring out in his mind.

"Interesting... Child, you hide yourself very well."

Allen did not answer.

He only released the surface information.

Orphanage. Sleepy. Distant branch of the Potters. Dislikes trouble. Read pureblood family histories. Inclined toward Slytherin. No need for closeness with Harry.

These were enough.

The hat tried one more time.

The interdimensional layer outside his soul didn't fight back; it just swallowed the probe and spat back a piece of clean, empty ground. It didn't even have a temper.

This was more troublesome than a counterattack.

A counterattack meant there was something inside.

The blankness made it impossible to write a report.

The hat fell silent.

The Great Hall quieted down with it.

Three seconds.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

The smugness on Draco's face slowly faded. Harry sat by the Gryffindor table, not touching the cup in his hand. Ron whispered: "Why hasn't it sorted him yet?"

Hermione was also staring at the four-legged stool, her expression very focused.

Snape turned his head at the high table.

Dumbledore didn't speak, just held his goblet.

Allen sat on the stool, sleepiness beginning to well up again.

If this hat kept agonizing over it, he might actually fall asleep on the spot.

The hat finally spoke, its voice ringing only in his mind.

"You are not suited for Gryffindor. You have courage, but you wouldn't draw a sword for applause."

Allen still didn't respond.

"Ravenclaw would like your brain, but you wouldn't put knowledge on a pedestal."

The hat paused.

"Hufflepuff is out of the question; you'd probably scare them to death."

Allen almost couldn't help but laugh.

This ragged hat's evaluation was actually quite accurate.

The hat continued to lean toward surface judgments.

Ambition, prudence, bloodline, interest calculation, sensitivity to power structures.

The answer was clear enough.

It didn't waste any more time; the tear opened, and it shouted aloud:

"Slytherin!"

The Slytherin table erupted in applause.

Draco was the first to clap, and Crabbe and Goyle followed suit. Goyle even clapped off-beat and was tugged by Crabbe.

The Gryffindor side was quiet for a beat.

Harry watched Allen stand up, his expression closing off quickly, but the disappointment couldn't be completely hidden.

Allen took off the hat and returned it to Professor McGonagall.

Passing the Gryffindor table, Harry opened his mouth, but didn't call out.

Allen didn't stop.

He walked to the Slytherin table.

Draco vacated the seat next to him, lowering his voice: "I told you you wouldn't choose wrong."

Allen sat down: "It was the hat that chose."

Draco looked at the old hat on the four-legged stool: "It took long enough."

"It's old, slow reaction."

When Goyle heard this, he asked very seriously: "Do hats get senile too?"

Crabbe said: "It sang out of tune just now."

Draco pressed his temple: "You two, say less."

Allen leaned back in his chair, looking at the high table across the Great Hall.

Dumbledore was just putting down his goblet.

The two pairs of eyes met briefly across the candlelight.

Allen looked away and picked up the knife and fork beside the empty plate in front of him.

The sorting was over.

The hat hadn't read him.

Dumbledore could only see a Potter who had been sorted into Slytherin.