Dudley gazed at the magnificent Great Hall, his analytical eyes scanning every detail with a keen interest that was entirely different from the wide-eyed wonder of the other first-years. Four long tables, already filling with students, stretched toward the raised platform at the front, dividing the hall into the territories of the four Great Houses. Above them, thousands of candles floated in midair, their warm, flickering light illuminating the cavernous space. But it was the ceiling that truly captured his attention. It was a perfect, seamless replica of the starry night sky outside, so flawless that it was difficult to believe it was not open to the heavens.
At the High Table, the school's professors sat in a line, observing the new arrivals. In the very center, seated in a grand, throne-like chair, was the familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard tucked neatly into his belt.
"Now, form a single file and follow me," Professor McGonagall's crisp voice cut through the students' awestruck whispers.
The line of first-years shuffled forward. Harry walked just ahead of Dudley, his steps unsteady, his legs seemingly made of lead.
"It's enchanted to look like the sky outside," Hermione whispered from behind Dudley, her voice filled with academic excitement. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
"Indeed," Dudley murmured in agreement. "It's hard to imagine this is a ceiling." The magic here was overt, ostentatious, and seemingly safe—a world away from the subtle, corrupting horrors he was used to.
They came to a stop in the center of the hall, before the High Table. Professor McGonagall placed a simple, four-legged stool before them. On it, she set a battered, frayed, and patched wizard's hat. It was so grimy it looked as if it had never been washed.
"Are they going to make us turn that hat into a rabbit?" Harry whispered nervously, his voice trembling.
"Probably not," Dudley reassured him quietly. "Transfiguration of that level is far beyond a first-year's ability." He looked at the old hat, a sense of unease prickling his senses. It was not simple. He blinked, activating his spiritual vision.
The world shifted. A faint, ancient aura pulsed from the hat, and its physical shape seemed to distort in his vision. He could vaguely perceive something else deep within the fabric, a presence, a formless consciousness. The light of its spirit was complex, ancient, and intertwined. He tried to see deeper, but his vision was blocked. This hat, whatever it was, was shielded by powerful, old magic.
Suddenly, a tear near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth, and it began to speak.
"A living characteristic!" Dudley's gaze sharpened, his mind reeling. In his past life, only the most powerful and dangerous Sealed Artifacts possessed true sentience. Trunsoest's Brass Book had a living characteristic, but its activity was so low it was practically dormant; for it to awaken would mean catastrophe. This hat, however, radiated no sense of danger. It was… benign.
Under the astonished gazes of the first-years, the Sorting Hat burst into song, its voice echoing through the hall. It sang of the four founders, of the qualities they valued, and of its own purpose. When it finished, the hall erupted in applause. The hat gave a small, genteel bow to each of the four tables and then fell silent once more.
"I get it now," Ron whispered from the line behind them. "We just have to wear the hat! Fred and George tricked me. They said we had to fight a troll!"
"Just wear a hat?" Harry breathed a sigh of immense relief.
"This hat is quite interesting," Dudley commented under his breath. A sentient magical object that was harmless. This world continued to surprise him.
"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall announced, holding a long roll of parchment, "you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your Houses."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-cheeked girl with two golden braids stumbled forward and sat on the stool. McGonagall placed the hat on her head. After a few tense seconds, the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The table on the right burst into cheers.
What does it base its sorting on? Dudley wondered, his brow furrowing. Can it read minds?
The thought sent a chill down his spine. The contents of his mind, the memories of that other world, of the Outer Gods, of the Sequences—that knowledge was a poison. If this hat could see it, it wouldn't just bring danger to him, but to everyone here. Some knowledge was a contagion that brought madness.
One by one, the students were sorted. Malfoy swaggered up, and the hat had barely touched his head before it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
"Dudley Dursley!"
"Good luck," Harry whispered.
"Mm," Dudley nodded, and walked forward with a calm, measured stride. Every eye in the Great Hall was on him. He could feel Malfoy's vicious stare burning into his back. He ignored it, his gaze sweeping over the High Table. Professor Dumbledore was watching him, a curious twinkle in his eye. The old wizard gave him a subtle, encouraging wink.
Dudley reached the stool and picked up the Sorting Hat. He placed it on his head, but kept his hand on the brim, ready to snatch it off at the first sign of mental intrusion.
"Oh, let's see what we have here," a small voice whispered directly in his ear. "A difficult one. Very difficult."
Dudley's mental defenses snapped into place.
"Truly excellent talent," the hat continued, its voice filled with intrigue. "And very ambitious. Slytherin would suit you well. But there is courage, a great deal of it, forged in fires I cannot see. And a wisdom that is far, far beyond your years. Ravenclaw would be a fine home for such a mind."
Can it detect my characteristics? Dudley thought, a cold knot of dread tightening in his stomach.
"Yes, I can sense the shape of your soul, your strengths and your weaknesses," the hat replied instantly.
It really is reading my mind!
"No, no, not at all," the hat corrected him patiently. "I am not a Legilimens. I can only perceive the surface of your thoughts, the qualities that make you who you are. If I could truly read minds, my boy, I assure you, I would have a much more interesting job than this."
Dudley relaxed slightly, a fraction of an inch.
"Wait," the hat's voice suddenly changed, a tone of pure, unadulterated shock echoing in his mind. "Wait… look what I've found! What is this? This astonishing magical talent! It is buried so deep… Why didn't I notice it at first?"
***
(End of Chapter)
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