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This was it.
The open halls of the Wickerknot School of Magic were ready to accept the next batch of first years, ready to split them up into the houses that they would inhabit for the next seven terms of their lives. It was a big occasion, really.
A stern-faced teacher brought them into the Dining Hall, saying nothing. At the front of the great room was a slightly raised platform, more of a stage than anything, with a small table set there, chair tucked neatly under it. Atop the table, a closed book lay, leather-bound and emblazoned with the school's emblem on the front. Also there were quill and ink, set just slightly aside from the book.
The voice of the stern teacher boomed out as the cluster of new students finally finished it's slow trickle through the doors. All silenced themselves to listen.
"Welcome, new students - and old. Today, as you all know, is the start of another year for you. And so, without further ado, let us get to the important matter - the Sorting."
More silence. More eager anticipation from the younger crowd.
"Each of you - " indicating the first years - " will go up to the table. Dip the quill, write your name in the Journal, and wait. It will tell you where you should be. That is all."
No names were called, no role taken. The first person in the line was ushered up to the dais, and the Journal was opened.
What paths would this ceremony take every student on?
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The Sorting, Roll up, ickle firsties!
