THE ALCHEMIST OF HARRY POTTER

Professor McGonagall returned before the first-years had to wait long. She arranged them in a single file and led them into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was vast, with four long tables where the older students sat, each corresponding to one of the four houses. Hundreds of floating candles illuminated the enchanted ceiling, which reflected the stormy night sky outside. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow, contrasting the cold rain still clinging to their robes.

Albert couldn't help but think about the magic that kept the candles afloat. Was it a form of Levitation Charm combined with a magical fire that never burned out? Otherwise, wax dripping onto students' heads would make for a less-than-pleasant dining experience.

While his mind wandered, the line of first-years reached a stool placed in front of the staff table. On it lay a patched, frayed, and ancient-looking hat—the Sorting Hat.

"That thing's been around since the Founders," Albert recalled, eyeing the battered headpiece with mild distaste. "I really hope they've cleaned it at least once in a thousand years."

Before he could dwell on the thought, the Sorting Hat stirred. A wide rip near its brim opened like a mouth, and it burst into song. As the enchanted hat sang its annual introduction about the four houses, Albert half-listened, his mind still fixated on its unwashed state.

When the Sorting Hat finished, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a long parchment. "Abbott, Hannah," she called.

Albert's stomach tightened slightly. With a last name starting with "A," he knew his turn was coming quickly. Indeed, after a few more names, McGonagall finally said, "Anderson, Albert."

In full view of the entire school, Albert strode forward, sat on the stool, and felt the hat drop over his eyes.

"Ah," a voice spoke in his mind. "Bright. Very bright. And brave. A sharp mind, too, though not without ambition. You could do well in Ravenclaw… or Gryffindor. Quite the choice."

"Not Slytherin," Albert murmured, though he knew it was unlikely.

"Not Slytherin?" the Hat mused. "Are you sure? You have the cleverness and resourcefulness to thrive there."

"No, thank you," Albert thought firmly.

"Well, then… better be… GRYFFINDOR!"

As soon as the Sorting Hat made its declaration, the Gryffindor table—the farthest on the left—erupted into cheers.

Albert removed the hat and made his way to his house table, where several students welcomed him with handshakes. One of them, a tall red-haired boy with a Prefect badge, grinned and clapped him on the back. "Welcome to Gryffindor!" That had to be Percy Weasley.

Albert glanced back at the Sorting Ceremony. A familiar face—Cedric Diggory—was waiting for his turn. He was strikingly handsome, and Albert couldn't help but recall how he had been described in the books as the quintessential "golden boy." The question was, would his fate remain the same, or would Albert's presence alter things?

As expected, the Weasley twins were also sorted into Gryffindor. Percy beamed as they joined the table, though he rolled his eyes when they sat near Albert. "Try not to cause too much trouble," he warned them.

Fred and George ignored him, turning to Albert with identical grins. "We thought for sure you'd be a Ravenclaw," George said.

Fred nodded. "Yeah, you scream 'bookish type.' Are you sure that Hat wasn't malfunctioning?"

Albert smirked. "You'd be surprised. The Sorting Hat's got its own secrets."

"Oooh, secrets," Lee Jordan leaned in, interested. "Are you going to tell us?"

Albert chuckled. "Not yet."

Their conversation was cut short when the entire hall fell silent. Dumbledore had stood up, his long silver beard gleaming in the candlelight. He spread his arms wide, smiling. "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin, I have a few words to say. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

Albert blinked. That was it?

The gap in leadership style was staggering. Other teachers would give long-winded speeches, but Dumbledore understood that no one wanted to sit through a lecture before dinner.

Curious, Albert turned to the Gryffindor Prefect beside him. "Do you know what those words mean?"

The Prefect looked caught off guard. "Er… no, actually."

Albert hummed in thought. Theories existed in the Muggle world about their meaning. Some said they were nonsense, while others believed they symbolized the attitudes of the four houses.

—Ravenclaws thought non-Ravenclaws were "nitwits."

—Gryffindors thought everyone else lacked bravery and might "blubber."

—Slytherins dismissed outsiders as "oddments," useless scraps.

—Hufflepuffs, ever practical, simply sought to "tweak" the world for the better.

"Maybe I'll ask Dumbledore himself," Albert mused aloud.

Several Gryffindors gawked at him. "You're going to ask Dumbledore?" Lee Jordan repeated incredulously. "You are way too curious for a Gryffindor."

"Yeah, someone threw this guy into the wrong house," Fred joked. "He belongs over there." He gestured toward the Ravenclaw table.

Albert just smiled, ignoring their teasing.

Suddenly, a loud boom echoed through the Great Hall as lightning flashed overhead. Gasps rippled through the room as the enchanted ceiling, which had been reflecting the storm outside, flickered ominously.

Dumbledore calmly lifted his wand and made a swishing motion. Instantly, the stormy sky above disappeared, replaced once again by a serene, starry night.

"Ah, much better," he said pleasantly. "Now, let the feast begin."

At once, golden plates and goblets filled with food. Steaming roast beef, golden Yorkshire pudding, and mountains of mashed potatoes appeared before them as if conjured from thin air.

Albert's curiosity about the Sorting Hat and Dumbledore's words could wait. Right now, the smell of roasted chicken and pumpkin pasties was far more enticing.