After the Sorting Hat finished singing, the Great Hall fell silent.
The professors exchanged glances, as did the older students at the four long house tables. Never before had they seen the Sorting Hat so delighted. Not only had it sung a brand-new song, but the lyrics had also carried an unmistakable significance.
The students soon broke into hushed discussions. They understood fragments of the song's meaning, though much of it remained a mystery, leaving them to speculate.
Moriarty, however, wasn't focused on the murmurs around him. His sharp eyes caught a brief exchange between Dumbledore and a stern-looking female professor with large square glasses—Professor McGonagall. Through Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles, Moriarty detected a hint of solemnity in his expression.
Was it about the Sorting Hat's song?
It seemed likely. After all, the song had all but spelled out his presence.
Raising his Slytherin staff slightly, Moriarty's clear voice rang through the hall, cutting through the noise. "Hat, your song is the first welcome gift I've received at Hogwarts. I appreciate it. As a token of gratitude, allow me to return the favor."
His words immediately captured the attention of the students. They turned to watch as Moriarty gave the Sorting Hat a small wave of his staff. A thin layer of frost spread across the ancient hat's surface.
"You should look presentable," Moriarty added lightly, "especially if you're expecting to meet an old friend."
The Sorting Hat gave a startled yelp. "Aha! What—what have you done? It's cool—oh, tingly—itchy! Oh, I say, this is quite refreshing—how unexpected!"
The frost shimmered for a few moments before fading away, leaving the hat looking pristine—as if it had just been crafted anew by Godric Gryffindor himself a thousand years ago.
There was a stunned silence, and then the hat let out a delighted chuckle. "Well, well! This takes me back to the old days, back when Salazar was constantly urging Godric to clean me up! My, my… what a nostalgic feeling."
"It was nothing," Moriarty replied smoothly. "I just hope you enjoy it."
Applause erupted from the Gryffindor table, with some students whistling in appreciation. A red-haired fourth-year grinned and called out, "Nice one! I've wanted to do that for ages!"
Percy, standing behind Moriarty, groaned and muttered, "Oh no, it's Charlie…"
The tension that had lingered after the Sorting Hat's song suddenly dissipated, and laughter rippled through the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall took the opportunity to regain control of the room. "When I call your name, step forward, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and await your Sorting."
The first name was called.
"Jericho Blanche!"
A tall, pale boy with short blond hair strode forward confidently.
Lilith leaned toward Moriarty and whispered, "Blanche is an American surname. If I recall correctly, he's the son of James Blanche, the current Director of Magical Sports at MACUSA. Their whole family is involved in Quidditch and broom racing."
She smirked knowingly. "I bet he'll be sorted into Slytherin."
Sure enough, as soon as the hat was placed on Jericho's head, it declared in an exaggerated, operatic tone, "Slytherin~!"
Jericho set the hat down and hurried over to the Slytherin table, where he was met with polite, though not particularly enthusiastic, applause.
Lilith winked at Moriarty, looking pleased with her prediction.
As more names were called, Lilith continued identifying notable pure-blood students, effortlessly reciting their family backgrounds.
Then—
"Penelope Clearwater!"
Penelope inhaled sharply. She glanced nervously at the students around her, but Moriarty offered her a reassuring nod. "Don't worry. Just relax."
Taking a deep breath, Penelope stepped forward and placed the Sorting Hat on her head.
The hat immediately spoke into her mind, "Oh my, another one hoping for Slytherin? What a crowded house we have this year!"
Penelope flinched. "I—"
"Ah, no need to speak, I see it clearly," the hat continued. "You value ambition, but—oh, no, no, no. Ravenclaw suits you far better! You'll achieve your goals faster and more effectively there, don't you agree?"
Penelope shook her head desperately.
The hat, however, had made up its mind.
"Then—Ravenclaw~!"
Penelope's face fell. She removed the hat and placed it down with an uncharacteristic lack of care, causing the hat to grumble in protest. But she didn't seem to hear it. Moving stiffly, she walked toward the Ravenclaw table, where she was met with applause.
Percy sighed. "Looks like I'm the only Gryffindor from our train compartment."
"Don't be discouraged, Weasley," Lilith consoled him. "Greatness isn't determined by your house."
Just then, Professor McGonagall's voice rang out again.
"Moriarty Slytherin!"
The Great Hall fell silent once more.
Not a single whisper. Not even a breath.
Moriarty was already at the front of the queue. He stepped forward smoothly and picked up the Sorting Hat. The hat grinned at him. "Ah! Come on, then. Let's see what's inside that head of yours."
Moriarty's lips curved slightly. Inside the castle, he had learned a few small tricks—magical techniques to shield his mind from intrusion.
He was curious to see how well they would work against the Sorting Hat.
As soon as he placed the hat on his head, the hat gasped. "Oh no—"
Instead of reading Moriarty's thoughts, the hat found its own memories being probed.
Moriarty glimpsed flashes of the past—
A tall man in scarlet robes raised his sword against another man in silver, who held a staff, his expression proud and unwavering.
A grand castle, still under construction, with its towers and turrets taking shape.
Four wizards, their wands raised, channeling blue and white mist into the very fabric of the Sorting Hat.
Then—darkness.
The hat abruptly pulled itself together and let out a strangled squawk. "Hey! You cheeky little—! That's not fair! You're using Salazar's old tricks! If you weren't a Slytherin, I'd send you straight to Azkaban!"
A ripple of startled gasps spread through the hall.
But Moriarty only chuckled. "You have a remarkable sense of humor, Hat. Perhaps Godric left you a bit of his wit?"
The hat, still flustered, huffed, "Hmph! Well, well. Maybe I should make future students tell me jokes before sorting them. That would certainly be entertaining!"
From the Gryffindor table, several students cheered. "Brilliant idea!"
Moriarty cleared his throat. "As much as I'd love to discuss comedy with you, Hat, I believe you have a job to finish."
"Ah, yes, yes," the hat grumbled. "Well, there's no question where you belong! Slytherin!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from the Slytherin table. One of the older students conjured a shimmering silver snake into the air, declaring, "Praise Slytherin!"
As Moriarty approached the table, he was met with handshakes and polite nods. However, a few students observed him with calculating expressions.
The Slytherin prefect, William Romot, the one who had summoned the silver snake, took charge of introductions. "You'll sit here. And this," he gestured to a girl beside Moriarty, "is Gemma Farley, your third-year mentor."
Gemma had long brown hair cascading down to her waist and sharp green eyes. She smiled at him warmly. "Welcome, Mr. Moriarty. It's a pleasure."
Moriarty returned the greeting politely. Together, they turned their attention back to the Sorting.
"Lilith Piliwick!"