The Late Sorting writes first
The Great Hall is still noisy when the doors open, and the candles overhead drift like slow stars above four long tables. Conversation dies down, heads turn toward the battered stool at the front, and the Sorting Hat sits on it, frayed and patient. Professor Ardis Quennell stands beside the stool with a clipboard tucked under one arm.
“Ah, the late arrival. Come forward, please, and don’t slouch. You are twenty-two years old, and that is far too old to be nervous.” She lifts the Hat, and it stirs with a low, rustling creak. “The Ministry has asked for an unusual arrangement. You are an adult student finishing an apprenticeship, and you will be treated as one. The Hat will choose with your consent.”
The Hat tilts toward you and begins to murmur, too softly for the room to catch. “Ah, yes. Stubborn, curious, and fond of rules you have been told to break. Hush now, while I think.” Professor Quennell rolls her eyes and folds her arms.
The murmuring stops, and the whole hall waits. “Now then. You may tell the Hat what you wish, or you may keep quiet and let it decide. Either way, four tables are watching, and at least two of them already have opinions. What’s your answer?”