[Third Person's PoV]
As the ghost drifted above the group of nervous first-years, a familiar and commanding voice echoed down the corridor. Professor McGonagall had returned.
"Move along now," she said sharply, giving the ghost a pointed look. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
With that, she turned to face the new students, her expression stern but not unkind. "Alright now, everyone, follow me."
The line of students shuffled forward. Gwyneth trailed behind with her head bowed low, her stomach twisting in knots. Every step felt heavier than the last, like walking toward a doom she had not signed up for. She wasn't just anxious—she was practically mourning.
They emerged into the grandeur of the Great Hall. Gasps of awe escaped the lips of several first-years. The enchanted ceiling sparkled above them, reflecting a beautiful night sky full of twinkling stars. Four long tables stretched across the hall, packed with older students who had long been sorted. At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform, sat the professors.
Gwyneth barely had time to take it all in before Professor McGonagall stepped forward and placed a small wooden stool in the center of the hall. Upon it sat the oldest wizard's hat she had ever seen—dusty, pointy, and worn with age.
Before anyone could ask questions, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim widened into what looked like a mouth. And then, to everyone's amazement, it began to sing.
The Sorting Hat's song echoed across the hall, its magical voice delivering a cheerful, slightly eerie tune about the four Hogwarts houses, their founders, and what virtues they valued. It was supposed to be whimsical and inspiring.
But Gwyneth wasn't inspired.
As the hat's melody carried on, she blinked slowly, turning her head toward Arthur. His face was puffed up like he was trying to hold in an explosion, his cheeks flushed red from the effort.
Her eye twitched. Slowly, dread began to settle into realization. She had been tricked.
There was no tournament. There had never been a tournament to begin with.
It had all been a lie.
The look she gave Arthur was nothing short of betrayal. It pierced straight through him. But that only made things worse.
Arthur burst into laughter.
Not just a chuckle. Not even a snicker. A full-bodied, wheezing, doubled-over laugh. He clutched his sides and leaned towards Merlin for support. He wasn't alone either—Merlin had doubled over, clutching at her side barely able to stand, the two of them were nearly on the ground.
Arthur's laughter grew louder as Gwyneth's expression shifted from disbelief to horror, and then to fury. Her arms stiffened at her sides, her face burning with shame.
McGonagall was not amused.
Her glare could've turned them to stone. And even Lance, who hadn't said a word, had buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, his ears glowing bright red. He was trying—and failing—not to laugh along with them.
Gwyneth's cheeks puffed up in indignation, and her lips pressed into a pout. Her eyes narrowed, realizing that they had all known. All of them had been in on it.
With a loud growl of frustration, she stomped toward Arthur and began beating him on the back with both fists. He could barely defend himself, doubled over with laughter.
"I can't breathe…" he wheezed between gulps of air, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Arthur," Merlin said between his own gasps, "that was bloody brilliant…"
The Sorting Hat's song finally came to an end, applause filling the room as tradition dictated.
McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, regaining control of the room. "I do not know what you four find so amusing," she said in a sharp tone, "but please compose yourselves. I am about to begin calling names. When your name is called, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and place the hat on your head to be sorted."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A small girl with blonde hair nervously stepped forward. She sat down on the stool, the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, and after only a moment, it called out, "Hufflepuff!"
The table to the far right burst into cheers. With a flick of McGonagall's wand, the Hufflepuff crest magically appeared on Hannah's robes. She stepped down from the stool and made her way to her new house.
"Gwyneth Ardene!"
Gwyneth whipped around, kicked Arthur hard in the shin, and hissed, "I hate you!"
Still laughing, Arthur hopped on one foot, tears of mirth still running down his face. "Worth it!" he managed.
Gwyneth stormed forward, her cheeks puffed with anger. She climbed onto the stool with theatrical annoyance. The Sorting Hat was placed on her head, falling slightly over her eyes.
"Well now," the hat said inside her mind, sounding amused, "what a nasty little prank they played on you. Quite spirited though." It chuckled to itself, then shouted aloud, "Hufflepuff!"
The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers again as Gwyneth hopped off the stool and stomped toward her new housemates. She refused to glance back at Arthur or the others, holding her chin high and her nose in the air.
More names were called. Susan Bones joined Hufflepuff. Terry Boot went to Ravenclaw. Lavender Brown became the first Gryffindor of the night.
The sorting continues, many placed into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin.
"Lance Demere!"
The laughter between the group had finally died down by this point, and they were catching their breath.
Lance stepped forward, but before the Sorting Hat could even touch his head, it yelled—at a volume louder than before—"SLYTHERIN!"
The shout startled everyone, even Professor McGonagall, who blinked in surprise. Students exchanged glances, whispering and raising eyebrows. Lance stood frozen for a moment, not entirely sure how to react. He looked slightly stunned as he walked to the Slytherin table, which welcomed him with loud applause.
Arthur's brow furrowed slightly. Before he could ponder as to why the hat shouted so loudly, he heard a scoff not far from him.
"With how loud the hat shouted… just how bad does he have to be?"
Arthur turned and frowned. "Don't say that."
"What?" Ron Weasley blinked, caught off guard.
"Just because someone is sorted into Slytherin doesn't make them a bad person," Arthur said, his voice firm. "You don't know him, and you don't have the right to judge."
Ron shrugged, unconvinced. "Mate, it's not me—it's the Hat that sorted him. Everyone knows what kind of people end up in Slytherin. And with a shout like that…"
He trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air.
Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Forget it," he muttered, turning his attention back to Merlin, who stood calmly ahead of him.
Behind him, Ron raised an eyebrow and glanced at Harry, jerking his thumb toward Arthur with a look that practically screamed, 'Can you believe this guy?'
Harry offered a tight, awkward smile, clearly unsure how to respond. Deep down, a nagging worry gnawed at him—what if he was sorted into Slytherin?
The Sorting continued steadily, names called in clear alphabetical order. From D to E, F to G, students made their way to the stool, one by one. Hermione Granger was eventually called, and after only a moment beneath the hat, the Sorting Hat cried, "Gryffindor!"
A loud cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table. Arthur glanced back at Ron just in time to hear a low groan escape him.
Arthur gave a small, tired smile. His mind started to slow from standing still for so long. The excitement had dulled, and boredom began to settle in. His mind drifted, zoning out as the names continued through the list. G to H, I to J...
"Arthur King!"
The sudden sound of his name jolted Arthur out of his thoughts. He blinked, gathered himself, and walked forward past the rows of students. His steps were steady, regal almost, his posture upright and confident.
Whispers rippled through the Great Hall like a gust of wind.
"Is that really him? I saw him in the Daily Prophet…"
"Doesn't he run a magic shop? But he's our age!"
"My parents say it's all propaganda... whatever that word means."
"But he's so cute! He looks better in person than in the photos."
Arthur ignored every word. He kept his expression calm and composed, mentally fortifying his thoughts and emotions as he approached the Sorting Hat. He sat on the stool, bracing himself for what came next.
Professor McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat and leaned in and tried to place it on his head. Keyword: Tried
The hat curled at the hem, recoiling from Arthur's head, like a baby refusing to touch grass. It twisted slightly, arching away as though resisting the Sorting with all its might.
McGonagall blinked in surprise. "What…?"
She tried again, but the result was the same. The hat wouldn't go down.
Now visibly perplexed, McGonagall tucked the scroll of names under her arm and gripped the hat with both hands, attempting to pull it down onto Arthur's head by force.
Still, the hat refused.
It stretched unnaturally upward, its brim rippling as though alive, shaking side to side in firm rebellion. Murmurs and gasps echoed through the Great Hall.
"What is with this hat?!" McGonagall muttered, wrestling with it. "It's never behaved this way before!" She shot Arthur a suspicious look. "Boy, are you using some sort of magic?!"
Before Arthur could even open his mouth to respond, the Sorting Hat suddenly stiffened, going absolutely rigid. Then, in a booming magical voice, louder than it had been all evening, it shouted:
"GRYFFINDOR!!! GRYFFINDOR!!! GRYFFINDOR!!!"
For a moment, silence reigned in the Hall.
Students and teachers alike sat stunned. Even Dumbledore, seated high at the head table, placed a hand over his mouth in amusement. His piercing blue eyes narrowed in thought, though the small, smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed his delight at the scene.
Gwyneth's brows furrowed as she peered at Arthur. But then, as if remembering she was still supposed to be angry with him, she huffed and turned away—though she couldn't help but sneak glances in his direction.
Lance, sitting at the Slytherin table, watched with a faint smile. 'I had a feeling he wasn't ordinary,' he thought.
As for Merlin, she simply lowered her head and smiled wider. 'At least that old hat knows its place.'
Then the Gryffindor table exploded into applause. Students stood, clapping and cheering as Arthur hopped down from the stool.
Between the bizarre display and Arthur's growing fame, one thing was certain: he was no ordinary student. And in a school that thrived on points and House Cup victories, being special was more than welcome if it meant it earned them more points.
McGonagall sighed deeply, recovering her composure. With a flick of her wand, Arthur's robes shimmered as the scarlet-and-gold crest of Gryffindor emblazoned itself over his chest.
He walked toward the Gryffindor table where eager students immediately greeted him with enthusiastic handshakes and hearty slaps on the back. He nodded politely, joining them as they made room for him at the bench.
On the outside, Arthur wore the mask of composure.
But inside?
'It sucks that we got separated…' he thought, casting a brief glance back at the line of students still waiting. 'I just hope Merlin gets sorted into Gryffindor too. It'll get lonely without her.'
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