1st of September, 1971

The Great Hall buzzed with the nervous energy of hundreds of new students. A whirlwind of emotions swirled through the air, a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and a touch of fear. Jane, for one, had never been in a place with so many people, and the fact that they were all witches and wizards sent shivers down her spine.

Her eyes widened in awe as she took in the breathtaking spectacle. The ceiling was a mesmerising canvas, dotted with countless twinkling stars that seemed to shimmer and dance like living jewels. Long, opulent tables stretched out before her, adorned with gleaming golden plates and crystal goblets that sparkled in the soft, magical light. The hall was a bustling hive of activity, filled with the cheerful chatter and laughter of students enjoying the festive atmosphere. It felt like stepping into a magical world straight out of a storybook, and Jane couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation course through her.

Just a few weeks earlier, her ordinary life had been turned upside down. In the familiar setting of their cramped kitchen, her father had dropped a bombshell: she was a witch. The revelation hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the mundane hum of the old refrigerator. Her father, a man she knew as gentle and worn, handed her a letter bearing the mysterious Hogwarts crest, his eyes a mix of pride and concern. Jane could still feel the trembling in her hands as she unfolded the letter, the parchment seeming impossibly weighty with the implications of her newfound identity.

Consuming every detail her father could share about his own brief and bittersweet experience in the Wizarding World, Jane craved more. His tales, though precious, were limited due to the heartbreaking discovery that he was a Squib. Determined to reclaim a birthright she never knew she had, Jane embarked on a relentless quest for knowledge.

Their small town, devoid of any magical enclaves or libraries, offered no easy answers. Undeterred, Jane scoured dusty secondhand bookstores, the scent of aged paper and leather filling her senses as she sifted through countless volumes. She devoured anything remotely related to magic, from dusty tomes on local folklore to well-worn children's fantasy novels. Unfortunately, most of what she found fell short of her needs. The fantastical stories, while captivating, were just that – fantasy.

Other books, purporting to be factual accounts of magic, were filled with outlandish claims and dubious information, leaving her more confused than informed. Yet, Jane persisted, her determination fueled by a spark of magic she could almost grasp.

Their financial struggles cast a long shadow over Jane's preparations. Buying even the most basic supplies was a challenge, let alone extra books to quench her thirst for knowledge. Her father, a hardworking man, took on additional shifts at the gruelling factory, the toll evident in his roughened hands and deepening lines.

Diagon Alley, a world of magic and wonder, was also a stark reminder of their limited means. Jane scoured the alley's secondhand shops for affordable robes, a wand that felt worn despite being new, and a cauldron that had seen better days. Despite their humble origins, these items became treasures in her eyes, symbols of her journey into the unknown.

"Which house are you hoping to get into?" the girl to her side asked suddenly.

The question snapped Jane out of her reverie. The girl was not much taller than Jane, had large square glasses and had stick-straight dark brown hair. "Which house are you hoping to get into?" she repeated, leaning in slightly.

Jane's heart pounded in her chest. She hadn't anticipated anyone breaking the silence. Lost in a world of observation, she'd been mentally cataloguing every detail of the Great Hall, planning what to write in her letters home. The warmth of the bustling room seemed to clash with the icy grip of her anxiety.

She tried to formulate a response. "I don't really know," she admitted, biting her lip. "Gryffindor sounds like fun, I guess."

The girl nodded back enthusiastically. "I would love to be in Gryffindor! But I know I'm going to be a Hufflepuff."

"How do you know that?" Jane asked, her curiosity piqued. She was starting to enjoy this conversation more than she'd expected.

"Everyone in my family is a Hufflepuff," the girl replied, pulling at her robes nervously. She looked down at her feet, her voice softening, "Well, except for my aunt, but we don't really talk about her."

The girl glanced past Jane, her expression hinting at the source of her family's unspoken shame. Jane followed her gaze, her eyes landing on the Slytherin table. The students there watched the sorting ceremony with a blend of apathy and arrogance, their cold stares seeming to sweep across the hall.

"Why?" Jane questioned. She was so focused on understanding her new friend that she missed the subtle hint the girl had dropped.

"She was a... well, one of them," the girl muttered, her voice barely audible over the growing hubbub. A pointed gesture indicated a clique of older Slytherins, their faces a mask of indifference as they awaited for a student to be sorted into their house. Something about the girl's fervent whisper and the group she indicated sent a shiver down Jane's spine. There was an intensity in her gaze that bordered on fear.

"Got it," Jane muttered, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes flickered to the Slytherin group once more.

"But I don't think we need to worry about that," the girl attempted to reassure her, her voice laced with a nervous edge. "As long as you're not evil, you'll be okay." She offered a weak smile, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something.

A hush fell over the room, as sudden and unexpected as a summer storm. Intrigued, Jane's eyes followed the direction of the other students, their gazes converging on a single point - a hat.

The Sorting Hat stirred, as if roused from an eternal slumber. Its form rippled and shifted, and then, in a manner both startling and oddly natural, it opened its mouth and began to sing.

Oh, you may think I'm old and worn,

A dusty relic, tattered and torn.

But deep within, a wisdom resides,

A knowledge vast, where magic hides.

I've seen a thousand years unfold,

Young minds awakened, stories told.

I've sorted witches, wizards bright,

To houses filled with darkness and light.

There's Gryffindor, the brave and bold,

With hearts of courage, stories untold.

Or Hufflepuff, where loyalty gleams,

And hard work shines like golden dreams.

Perhaps in Ravenclaw you'll find,

A mind sharp, curious, one of a kind.

Or Slytherin, where ambition's keen, And cleverness is often seen.

So let me peer into your soul,

Discover depths, make you whole.

For in these houses, you'll find your place,

In Hogwarts' grand and magical space.

A thunderous roar erupted from the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat finished its song. The atmosphere was electric, a maelstrom of cheers and applause. Jane's attention was drawn to the table on her right, where the occupants seemed to be in a league of their own when it came to enthusiasm. Their whistles and shouts were a cacophony that stood out even in the midst of the general jubilation. The Sorting Hat, with a flourish that only a sentient headwear could manage, bowed in acknowledgment of the crowd's adoration.

An elderly witch, cloaked in elegant green robes, stepped into the spotlight. With a serene air, she announced the commencement of the sorting ceremony. Unfurling a long, parchment scroll, her fingers traced the intricate script as she prepared to call the first name.

Professor McGonagall, her stern face etched with concentration, read out the first name. "Black, Sirius!"

A boy not much taller than Jane strode confidently towards the stool, his head held high. He had an air of self-assurance that Jane could only dream of. As the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, covering his feathered, dark hair, the Hall fell silent. Moments later, the hat's booming voice echoed through the Great Hall, "GRYFFINDOR!" A cheer erupted from the scarlet-clad table as the boy, face flushed with excitement, joined his new house.

With a smug smirk that seemed to taunt the Slytherin table, Sirius made his way to the Gryffindor table. Another wave of anxiety washed over Jane. Would her own house greet her with such fervour? Or would she be met with indifference?

A wave of names washed over the hall, each one eliciting a flicker of anticipation or a sigh of disappointment from the assembled students. Then, the redheaded girl was called to the stool. Her grip tightened briefly on the hand of the dark-haired boy beside her, her fingers betraying a touch of nervousness. As she sat on the stool, a kaleidoscope of nerves and pure joy danced across her face: excitement, trepidation, and a hint of relief. She cast a quick glance back at the boy, and their exchanged smiles held a silent promise of support.

Jane wished she was more like the redhead. Here, amidst the swirling chaos of emotions, this girl had the comfort of a friend. The prospect of navigating Hogwarts alone suddenly felt overwhelming.

The girl sat on the stool, her small frame dwarfed by the imposing hat. A hush fell over the Great Hall as all eyes turned to her. Time seemed to slow as the Sorting Hat settled on her head, its frayed brim casting a shadow over her face. A minute passed in tense silence, broken only by the soft rustle of robes and the occasional suppressed whisper. Finally, the hat's worn voice rang out, clear and decisive, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted into a cacophony of cheers, their joyous clapping and whooping filling the hall. The girl's eyes widened in delight as the realisation of her placement washed over her. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment, and she beamed at her new housemates. A quick glance back at the dark-haired boy revealed a look of both pride and a hint of sadness. He stood alone in the crowd.

The boy let out a long, audible sigh. His shoulders slumped as his head followed the girl to the Gryffindor table. Jane saw despair take over his entire body. He offered her a small, resigned nod, a silent farewell. The girl returned his gesture with an apologetic wave before turning to embrace the warmth of her new house. Jane felt a sharp pang of empathy. To share such a monumental moment with a friend, only to be separated, must be a bitter pill to swallow.

The next name echoed through the Great Hall. "Fairall, Eleanor!" The voice was Professor McGonagall's, clear and authoritative. Jane's heart pounded in her chest as she watched her newfound acquaintance leave her side.

Eleanor glanced nervously at Jane, her eyes wide with apprehension. "Wish me luck," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the growing din. With a quick, nervous adjustment of her robes, she walked to the stool.

Jane watched with trepidation as the small girl seemed to diminish in size under the size of the hat. Her hands trembled slightly, and she adjusted her glasses before taking a deep breath and lowering herself onto the stool. The Great Hall once again went silent as everyone's attention turned to the young girl, their faces a canvas of expectant curiosity.

Barely three seconds passed before the Sorting Hat's decision echoed through the hall. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Eleanor's face transformed into a mask of relief as she hopped off the stool and made her way to the Hufflepuff table. She caught Jane's eye and beamed, gesturing to an empty seat beside her. The Hufflepuff table erupted in warm applause, their cheers like a comforting embrace as Eleanor joined their ranks.

With each name called, Jane's heart pounded harder, her palms growing clammy. She knew with each new name, she was one step closer to her fate.

"Harriet, Shirley!"

The mousy girl who looked so thin she would break was sorted into Ravenclaw.

"King, Steven!"

He was sorted into Slytherin after a few minutes with the hat.

"King, Walter!"

The second of the King twins was sorted to be in Hufflepuff. He was sitting near Eleanor.

Then Jane heard it.

"Lewis, Jane!"

Jane's heart pounded like a drumbeat in her chest as she made her way to the stool. A wave of nerves washed over her, and she instinctively wiped her clammy hands on her robes. The polished wooden floor felt hard beneath her feet, grounding her in the moment as she approached the imposing hat. The air was thick with anticipation, carrying the faint scent of old wood.

"Breathe, just breathe," she muttered to herself, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm. Her gaze swept across the Great Hall, landing on Eleanor who was beaming at her with an infectious optimism. The warmth of Eleanor's smile was a comforting beacon in the storm of anxiety swirling within her.

Sliding onto the hard, wooden stool, Jane felt a weight descend upon her head. The Sorting Hat's fabric was rough against her skin, its age and countless previous wearers palpable. It also reeked of mothballs. A shudder washed over her as the hat settled, its weight oddly comforting. She held her breath, her mind a whirlwind of possibilities as the ancient magic began its work.

"Why yes, indeed. How fascinating, how intriguing. I have a feeling we have crossed paths before, Miss Lewis." Jane felt a sly grin tickle her mind. What was he talking about? The hat's voice was soft but insistent, like a whisper in her inner ear. A shiver ran down her spine as a sense of familiarity washed over her, a feeling as old as time itself.

"Should I give you the same answer, or perhaps choose another? What to do, what to do. Ah, I see it clearly now. You still possess that fiery spirit that would serve you well in Gryffindor. Yet, those sharp brains of yours would be cherished by Ravenclaw. They do have a fondness for genius, indeed."

Jane felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Gryffindor, the house of bravery and courage. Or Ravenclaw, the house of wit and wisdom? Both houses seemed to fit, and the Sorting Hat's words only served to deepen the dilemma.

Jane's mind raced, desperately searching for a clue. An old house? She'd lived in several houses, but nothing stood out as particularly significant. Was it a dream? A past life? The thought was absurd, yet a shiver ran down her spine. The Sorting Hat seemed to be toying with her, its words a riddle she couldn't solve.

"Oh! You don't remember, what a pity. Perhaps one day you will, Miss Lewis... or should I even call you that?" The Sorting Hat's voice took on a playful, almost mischievous tone. It was as if they were engaged in a private game, known only to the two of them. "As tempting as Ravenclaw would be..." The hat paused, as if considering its options, creating a suspenseful silence that stretched through the Great Hall.

The hat's voice, like thunder, rumbled through the room, "Gryf-"

The Sorting Hat abruptly stopped talking, its magic extinguished. Jane's connection to its thoughts snapped like a broken thread. A heavy silence filled the room, as if all the air had been sucked out. Her heart pounded in her ears, a deafening drumbeat against the stillness. Then, a sound broke through the silence.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The room was hushed, a stillness so profound it seemed to throb. Uncertainty hung in the air like a tangible thing. Professor Dumbledore, standing to Jane's left, broke the spell with a clap of his hands.

Suddenly, a thunderous cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff table. Jane sat stunned, her mind racing. The Sorting Hat's words echoed in her head. What did it mean when it said she couldn't remember? And how could she possibly have another name? The hat's cryptic message left her bewildered and full of questions.

"Miss Lewis," a gentle hand rested on her shoulder. "It's time for you to return to your house."

"Oh!" Jane spun around to face the deputy headmistress, who indicated the Hufflepuff table with a nod. "Apologies, Professor."

With that, she slid off the stool and joined Eleanor at the Hufflepuff table. Eleanor's face was alight with excitement as she gushed about their shared room. Jane nodded politely, her mind racing. Something about this entire ordeal felt... off. The hard wooden bench offered a grounding solidity amidst the whirlwind of emotions. The cacophony of chatter and the tantalising aromas of the feast slowly pulled her back to the present. The rich scents of roasted meat, buttery bread, and sweet treats filled her senses, a comforting counterpoint to the unsettling puzzle of the Sorting Hat's words. As she listened to the clinking of goblets and the murmur of conversation, a sense of belonging began to creep in, a warm counterbalance to her confusion.