Harry potter and the stone

The Great Hall was like nothing Harry had ever seen. It was immense, its high ceiling enchanted to mirror the night sky above—clouds drifted lazily across a sea of stars, and a crescent moon bathed the room in a pale, silver glow. Candles floated in the air, casting flickering light over the long tables filled with older students. The air buzzed with quiet excitement, but Harry hardly noticed.

His eyes were drawn to the far end of the hall, where a long staff table sat elevated on a dais. Professors in rich robes observed the new arrivals with sharp, assessing gazes. At the very center of the table sat a man with a silver beard so long it could have touched the floor, his twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles fixed on Harry for just a moment too long.

Dumbledore.

Harry's heart gave a nervous jolt. He looked away quickly, his focus falling on a stool placed at the center of the hall. Atop it sat an old, battered wizard's hat.

"It's a hat," Ron muttered beside him, his voice low and incredulous.

Harry barely heard him. There was something strange about the hat. Its seams looked like they were alive, subtly shifting as though the hat itself were breathing. It radiated a faint, pulsing aura of magic.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing the hall's attention.

"When I call your name, you will step forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and be sorted into your house," she announced, her sharp voice cutting through the silence.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the first name was called.

Harry stood at the back of the line, his heart pounding as he watched the first-years step forward one by one. Each time the Sorting Hat was placed on a student's head, it would pause for a moment before announcing their house in a loud, clear voice. The hall would erupt in cheers from the appropriate table, and the student would hurry to join their new housemates.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bushy-haired girl Harry had met earlier in Diagon Alley practically sprinted to the stool. The hat barely touched her head before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron groaned beside Harry. "Figures. She's the type who'll get top marks in everything."

Harry tried to smile, but his nerves were getting the better of him. His hands felt clammy, and he kept glancing at the professors' table. Dumbledore was no longer looking at him, but there was a strange weight in the air, as if someone—or something—was watching him.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

The pale boy from the train strutted forward, his smirk firmly in place. The hat seemed to hesitate for only a moment before bellowing, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry wasn't surprised, but he felt a twinge of unease as Malfoy joined the cheering Slytherin table.

The line grew shorter and shorter, until finally, McGonagall called, "Potter, Harry."

The room went silent. Harry felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on him as he stepped forward, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. He sat down on the stool, and McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a voice, smooth and ancient, echoed inside his mind.

"Ah, Harry Potter," the Sorting Hat said, its voice tinged with curiosity. "I've been waiting for you."

Harry stiffened. "You can talk?"

"Of course I can talk. But only you can hear me. Now, let's have a look at you."

The hat seemed to delve into Harry's thoughts, and he felt a strange sensation, as though someone were rifling through the pages of his mind.

"Hmm," the hat mused. "Courage, yes. Intelligence, certainly. Ambition… oh, you have ambition, though you hide it well. And something else…"

The hat paused, and Harry felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"There is darkness here," the hat continued, its tone growing more solemn. "Not your fault, of course, but it clings to you all the same. And something… buried deep. A mark, no… a connection. Curious. Very curious."

"What are you talking about?" Harry thought, his heart pounding.

The hat hesitated again, as if deciding how much to say.

"There is a stone," it said at last, its voice softer now. "A heart stone. A fragment of old, wild magic, long forgotten by most of the wizarding world. It has chosen you, Harry. Or perhaps… it was always yours."

"A stone?" Harry thought, confused and alarmed. "What does it do?"

"That is not for me to say," the hat replied. "But be warned—it is as much a burden as it is a gift. And it will draw both light and shadow to you in equal measure."

Harry's mind raced. He didn't know what the hat was talking about, but the weight of its words pressed heavily on his chest.

"Now," the hat said, its tone brisk once more. "Where to put you? You could do well in Slytherin, with your cunning and resourcefulness. But there is a spark in you that calls to Gryffindor. Yes, I see it now—a fire that could burn away the shadows if you let it."

Harry thought about Malfoy, sitting smugly at the Slytherin table, and about Ron's nervous chatter on the train.

"Not Slytherin," he thought firmly.

"Are you sure?" the hat said. "You could be great, you know. Slytherin could help you achieve that greatness."

"Not Slytherin," Harry repeated.

The hat sighed. "Very well. If you're sure… better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat shouted the last word aloud, and the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers.

Harry pulled the hat off and handed it back to McGonagall, his legs trembling as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. The applause was deafening, but Harry's mind was elsewhere.

A heart stone. A burden and a gift.

What did it mean?

He glanced up at the staff table, and for a fleeting moment, Dumbledore's gaze met his. There was a knowing look in the headmaster's eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had come.

Harry sat down between Ron and Hermione, their faces alight with excitement. But as the Sorting continued, Harry's thoughts remained on the hat's words and the chill that lingered in the back of his mind.