Hagrid counted heads twice before he was satisfied, then handed the group off to Professor McGonagall, who had clearly been waiting for some time and made no effort to hide it.
She found Altair and Hermione in the crowd. Something crossed her face, brief and almost warm, before her expression settled back into its usual lines.
"Welcome to Hogwarts."
Her voice was cool and precise, the kind that made you sit up straighter without being told to. She addressed the group without ceremony, walking them through what was about to happen. The Sorting Ceremony would come first. Only after that would they be allowed to sit at their House tables. She covered the four Houses, the rules they were expected to follow, and the matter of points, all of it delivered with the same composed efficiency.
Then she turned, touched her wand lightly to the castle doors, and they swung open on their own. Inside, the braziers caught one after another, light chasing light down the passage.
A winding staircase led upward. They followed her in and up, until she stopped in front of two tall doors.
"Form a single line. Keep quiet."
They arranged themselves. She opened the doors.
...
"Wow."
"Oh my God."
The exclamations came from everywhere at once.
Even Hermione's hand tightened on Altair's robes.
Altair had seen the films. He had thought he knew what to expect. He didn't. The Great Hall as he had seen it on a screen bore almost no resemblance to the thing he was standing inside now.
Four long tables ran the length of the hall, already filled with older students who had turned to watch the first-years file in. Above them, tens of thousands of candles floated, their light reaching every corner without casting a single shadow. The tables were set with golden plates and goblets, silver cutlery laid out beside them. At the far end, the professors sat at their own long table. Altair picked out faces he recognized: Dumbledore in the center, looking on with quiet attention; Snape, sharp-featured and still; Quirrell with the turban wound around his head.
And above all of it, the ceiling. Enchanted to mirror the sky outside, it stretched overhead like open night, stars scattered across it, silver bands drifting slowly, the occasional meteor cutting through.
Nobody spoke. Professor McGonagall had to call for their attention more than once before they pulled themselves together and followed her to the front of the hall, where she stopped beside a stool.
On the stool sat a hat. Old, patched in several places, stained with long use. Every eye in the room went to it.
Hermione looked like she was about to say something. Altair tugged lightly at her sleeve.
A moment later the hat stirred, seemed to stretch itself, and began to sing.
Altair listened with a flat expression until it finished and bowed to the hall. The older students applauded. The first-years followed.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, put on the hat, and wait to be Sorted."
She looked down at the list.
"Hannah Abbott."
A blonde girl with pink cheeks walked up carefully, sat down, and put the hat on. A pause.
"Hufflepuff!"
She exhaled visibly. The Hufflepuff table broke into cheers.
The names continued. One by one they went up, sat down, and were claimed.
...
When Hermione's name was called, she looked at Altair first. Then she took a breath and walked up.
The hat sat quietly on her head for a moment, shifting once, then twice. Whatever it said to her, Altair couldn't hear it.
"Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table erupted. Hermione pulled the hat off, and before she turned to go, she looked back at Altair. Something expectant in her face. Then she was walking toward the red and gold.
Ron and Harry followed, both into Gryffindor as well.
...
"Altair Shelby."
Professor McGonagall looked at him as she said it. There was something in her eyes, not quite encouragement, but close. Farther down the staff table, Dumbledore seemed to sit a little straighter. McGonagall had clearly spoken to him already.
Altair walked up, placed the hat on his head, and sat down.
"Hmm." The voice came from just above his ear, low and deliberate. "What astonishing talent. Such dark and wicked power. I have never encountered a wizard with gifts this frightening. Greater than the four founders. Greater than Merlin. Greater than Dumbledore."
Altair said nothing.
"Deep in your heart lies a startling ambition, and yet you also know how to hide yourself." A pause. "A perfect Slytherin."
The hat's tone shifted.