Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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*****

The queue for the Sorting Ceremony was thinning, and the event was nearing its conclusion. Yet when Professor McGonagall called out the name "Harry Potter," a wave of murmurs erupted throughout the hall. All eyes turned towards the boy walking towards the Sorting Hat. Though taller than many of his peers, Harry had already attracted much attention, with the Hogwarts Express abuzz with talk of him earlier.

"Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin!"

Severus Snape, far more nervous than Harry, was muttering softly under his breath. The almost inaudible whisper was picked up by Professor Flitwick, sitting beside him. Flitwick scratched his ear, glanced at Snape, but the latter had already closed his mouth, face frozen in its usual stern expression. Baffled, Flitwick dismissed it, assuming he'd misheard.

Harry placed the Sorting Hat on his head, and a small voice began speaking in his mind.

"Hmm," the Sorting Hat grumbled. "Another tricky decision."

"I see a lot of courage in you, yes, very brave indeed—Gryffindor material without a doubt. Talented too—oh my, quite impressive! You have a strong desire to prove yourself, which is quite intriguing. Slytherin would suit you well, maybe even more than Gryffindor."

"Slytherin, eh? It will help you achieve greatness, that's certain. But it seems you're leaning towards something else?"

"Gryffindor is not bad either. Both of your parents were Gryffindors, so I think you should—"

"Gryffindor?"

"No."

"Then Slytherin," the Sorting Hat insisted, sensing a familiar pattern.

"No."

The old hat suddenly wrinkled, its seams tightening like frowning lips.

"A good child listens to their elders' advice. I've been sorting students for over a thousand years at Hogwarts—when have I ever been wrong?"

"Voldemort."

"What did you say?" The Sorting Hat, though aware of the name, wasn't a wizard and thus wasn't afraid.

"Wasn't your greatest failure sorting him instead of sending him to Azkaban?" Harry retorted, leaving the Sorting Hat speechless.

Internally, it may have been grinding its metaphorical teeth, muttering, 'Why did Lily have a son like you?' But as a professional, it kept those thoughts to itself.

Harry thought he could hear the hat taking a deep breath to calm itself.

"You can breathe?" he asked in surprise.

"Er, hem," coughed the hat.

"I—!"

The Sorting Hat barely managed to hold back a frustrated outburst.

"You won't go here or there?" the irritated hat huffed, determined to reassert its authority. It wasn't about to let a student trample over a thousand years of tradition!

"Gr—"

The first syllable of "Gryffindor" barely escaped before Harry's hand shot up, clamping the hat's mouth shut. The hat's muffled protests came out as odd gurgling sounds.

The Gryffindor students, who had been on the verge of cheering, froze. Snape, who had almost flipped the table, was equally stunned.

"Please, don't try to lay eggs on my head, Mr. Sorting Hat. You're not a hen, stop clucking," Harry said.

A moment of silence passed before the entire Great Hall erupted into laughter. With Harry gripping the hat's mouth shut, the Sorting Hat couldn't offer a single word of defense.

"Let go! Let go, I say!" the hat finally cried out. "Stop squeezing, stop! You're ruining my reputation!"

"They're laughing, you know," Harry noted. "At you! Don't you feel embarrassed? If I had a face, I'd be blushing by now."

"So, you don't have a face to lose, then?" Harry asked with a jab that made the hat twitch.

"You troublesome child!" the hat muttered under its breath.

"By the way, Mr. Hat, when's the last time you took a bath? I feel like I'm squeezing mud out of you."

"Of course, I bathe! How could I not? I've been around for over a thousand years! I even raise spiders so they can weave webs to patch me up!" the hat said, its voice slightly unsure, trying to laugh off the question.

"Sure, sure," Harry replied skeptically.

Harry could only force himself to believe the Sorting Hat's claim about being clean, convincing himself that he needed to keep his appetite intact for the upcoming feast. Otherwise, the thought of wearing a dirty hat would definitely ruin his mood for food.

"So, where exactly do you want to go?" the Sorting Hat asked.

"Hufflepuff," Harry replied.

"Again with the surprises this year... Fine, go wherever you want. Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Well, you didn't ask, and you didn't give me a chance," Harry said with an innocent expression.

"Is that your final decision?" the hat asked, exasperated.

"Yeah, I've made up my mind."

"Then hurry up and let go of my mouth. I'm getting all wrinkled."

"And don't shout something random. I'm not going to Gryffindor," Harry warned.

"Do I look like the kind of hat that tricks young wizards?" the hat grumbled.

"Well, you did try to decide on your own a moment ago," Harry said, rolling his eyes, though the hat couldn't see it.

"You... you...! There are still students waiting! Let go already! What bad luck this year..." the hat muttered.

With a sigh, Harry released his grip on the hat. The Sorting Hat stretched its crumpled mouth before bellowing:

"Hufflepuff!"

The Gryffindors, who had been ready to cheer, stood frozen in disbelief. Across the hall, it was the Hufflepuffs who erupted into cheers, feeling as if they had achieved a rare victory.

At the staff table, Snape mumbled to himself, "As long as it's not Gryffindor, I can live with this... I can live with it."

Professor Flitwick, hearing something odd again, looked around. No one seemed to be speaking.

"Maybe I should visit Madam Pomfrey for a check-up?" Flitwick thought, now seriously doubting his own hearing. But his concerns didn't last long as he glanced at Snape, muttering quietly to himself, "Dung-flavored potion or potion-flavored dung? I'd rather die." To calm his nerves, Flitwick took a sip from his flask, trying to get rid of the bitterness in his mouth.

After Harry's sorting, there were only three students left. One was sorted into Ravenclaw, another into Gryffindor, and the last into Slytherin. With that, the Sorting Ceremony came to an end. Professor McGonagall picked up the Sorting Hat and exited the hall. At that moment, a wave of hunger washed over Harry; lunch already felt like a distant memory.

Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat, beaming at the gathered students. With his arms wide open, he greeted them, as if nothing brought him more joy than seeing the students all together.

"Welcome!" he said warmly. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I'd like to say a few words: 'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'"

"Thank you!"

Dumbledore sat down again, a wide grin on his face. Seated next to him, a certain white-haired handsome old man, possibly Gellert Grindelwald, quirked an eyebrow. "Riddles every year, Albus? You really need to change your style."

"Isn't it delightful to see the children so puzzled, Gellert?" Dumbledore replied with a soft smile, raising his golden goblet in a subtle toast.

(End of Chapter)