After receiving Robert's affirmative response, Hagrid finally descended the stone steps and walked away.
On the other side of the Castle, Harry Potter had been watching — or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he had been glancing in Hagrid's direction intentionally or unintentionally — and happened to witness the two whispering at the back of the line.
He wasn't sure what compelled him, but after Robert walked into the Castle, Harry subconsciously followed.
"Excuse me, what were you just talking about?"
Robert was caught off guard; he hadn't expected the famous Savior to be so… familiar?
Logically, after dealing with Malfoy's provocation, Harry should be avoiding pure-blood wizards, not chatting with them.
"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," Harry quickly said.
Realizing he might have overstepped, he began gesticulating nervously, trying to explain, "I know Hagrid too. I mean, if you need help with something—"
"Thank you for your kindness, but I don't need help," Robert replied casually. "Something of his broke. I can fix it."
"Oh, I see. By the way, I'm Harry Potter."
"Robert Ollivander. We met in Diagon Alley, though your attention was all on the wand at the time."
"Really? I'm sorry, I honestly don't remember."
"It's alright. Very few wizards remain calm when getting their first wand."
…
The two chatted casually, but their conversation didn't go unnoticed.
Malfoy glanced at them repeatedly, his expression changing each time—jealousy, confusion, indignation—it was a fascinating sight.
Why?
They were all pure-bloods. Why was Potter willing to talk to Robert? It felt unfair.
Ron seemed to share his sentiment, though his face showed more suspicion than jealousy.
After what had happened earlier, Ron instinctively grouped Robert in the same category as Malfoy, and everyone knew the Weasleys and Malfoys were like oil and water.
So the more Harry spoke with Robert, the more uncomfortable Ron became.
Thankfully, before long, Professor McGonagall arrived and led the students into the Great Hall.
At this hour, the Great Hall was already full of people, but as Professor McGonagall led the long line of new students inside, every eye turned to them.
Were they nervous?
Most of the first-years looked quite anxious, though they were also amazed by the magical scene before them.
The ceiling sparkled like a starry sky.
Thousands of floating candles hung just beneath the enchanted ceiling, creating the illusion of a night sky lit with flames.
Around the Hall drifted translucent, human-shaped forms.
Were those ghosts?
Some of the more timid students, including Neville, found their legs wobbling and nearly buckled, barely managing to move forward.
Hermione, walking beside them, was doing slightly better, though her face was pale, and her hands clutched the corner of her robe tightly.
Ghosts. A singing hat. These things were rapidly dismantling everything she thought she knew about the world…
After an uncertain amount of time, the Sorting Hat finished its song, and those assembled straightened their posture in anticipation.
"The Sorting will now begin. When I call your name, come forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool," Professor McGonagall instructed, scanning the group of new students.
"Hannah Abbott!"
…
As more and more students were called and Sorted, Robert suddenly realized something.
He was still holding Tom.
Under normal circumstances, pets were supposed to be delivered to the school with the luggage, but Tom had chased after the train to eat a fellow creature, leaving Robert no choice but to carry him to the Castle.
But now the Sorting ceremony had begun, and holding a cat would draw unnecessary attention—people might think he was showing off.
"Robert Ollivander!"
Professor McGonagall's voice rang out. With no time to think, Robert gently set Tom on the floor.
"Don't run off," he whispered hurriedly, then strode forward.
"Look, it's Robert," said Hermione, who had just been Sorted into Gryffindor.
Neville sat beside her.
"I really hope he gets into Gryffindor too," Hermione whispered.
A ghost passing by happened to hear her and shook his head.
"That's impossible."
"Why?" Hermione asked, confused. With four Houses, shouldn't each student have a one-in-four chance?
"Because he's an Ollivander," Nearly Headless Nick said with a smile. "Most Ollivanders go to Ravenclaw. It's nearly unheard of for one to be Sorted into—"
"Gryffindor!"
The Sorting Hat's loud declaration cut him off.
The Great Hall fell into a strange silence.
Some students clapped out of habit, but a few just stared, clearly stunned.
The professors at the staff table didn't clap either. Instead, they all turned toward the Sorting Hat in surprise.
Slowly, the scattered applause faded, and a hushed stillness settled over the Hall.
Snape narrowed his eyes. Professor Flitwick rubbed his ears as though he'd misheard. Even Dumbledore leaned forward slightly in his seat.
"Albus…" Professor McGonagall murmured, as if seeking confirmation.
"The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes," Dumbledore said firmly.
"It seems the hat has surprised us once again," Snape said coldly, lips twitching.
"Yes," Flitwick agreed. "Just like when that Black was Sorted into Gryffindor decades ago."
"But this is even more shocking."
Amid the stares, Robert calmly removed the hat and returned it to Professor McGonagall.
"Mr. Ollivander, you—"
"I respect the school's Sorting process, Professor," Robert interrupted politely. "But may I ask the Sorting Hat one more question? I forgot to earlier."
"…No problem," McGonagall replied after a brief hesitation, placing the hat back on his head.
"Hmm? You again," came the subtle voice in his ear. "No matter what you ask, I won't change my mind. Gryffindor suits you."
"No, you misunderstood. I just have a question," Robert said aloud, not bothering to lower his voice—many people heard.
"Oh? Ask away."
"Do you have a favorite kind of wood?"
…
Wood?
Confused murmurs spread through the Hall. No one understood the question's meaning.
Only Dumbledore's face changed slightly.
He had long heard that the Ollivander family had produced an exceptionally talented wandmaker—one capable of crafting wands from the most unexpected materials.
Could it be…? No. Absurd.
What was he thinking? The Sorting Hat, made into a wand core? Impossible.
Dumbledore shook his head, dismissing the notion. Robert must be trying to intimidate the hat.
Such boldness didn't seem Ollivander-like at all.
By then, Robert had calmly walked over to the Gryffindor table and taken his seat.
The Sorting continued, as though nothing unusual had occurred.
"Next, Harry Potter!"
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