The doors of the Great Hall swung open with a slow groan, cutting through the Sorting Ceremony’s chatter.

Every head turned.

You stepped inside, the flickering torchlight catching on familiar features—features that mirrored Harry Potter’s. The whispers began instantly, sharp and breathless, echoing off the stone walls:

“Another Potter?” “But how—?”

At the staff table, Dumbledore’s expression was calm but knowing, his eyes glimmering as though he’d been expecting you all along. Beside him, Professor McGonagall straightened, clutching the Sorting list in her hands.

“The Sorting Ceremony,” Dumbledore announced smoothly, his voice carrying across the stunned hall, “has one final name.” His gaze landed firmly on you. “Step forward.”

You felt the weight of a hundred stares pressing in from all sides—Gryffindors leaning forward in curiosity, Slytherins sneering in doubt, Ravenclaws analyzing every detail, and Hufflepuffs murmuring among themselves. And at the Gryffindor table, just beside Harry, Hermione Granger’s brown eyes followed you intently, sharper than the rest. She wasn’t gawking like the others—she was studying you.

The Sorting Hat waited.