In the Great Hall

The first-year students were led into the Great Hall, their eyes wide as they took in the towering stone walls and the long rows of floating candles above. The enchanted ceiling stretched out, reflecting the night sky, twinkling with stars. Oliver heard Hermione whisper from behind him, "It's not real, you know. The ceiling. It's bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

Oliver barely had time to process this as the woman in the black hat ushered them forward. "When I call your name, please come up and wait here," she instructed, her voice carrying through the hall.

The students gathered around the podium, their anticipation building as they waited for the Sorting Ceremony to begin. The woman glanced at the list in her hands and said, "Before we begin, Professor Dumbledore has a few words to say."

The attention shifted to the headmaster as Professor Dumbledore stood and addressed the students. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses, his voice warm but authoritative. "A few start-of-term notices, if you would. First years, please note that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students." He paused for effect, letting that sink in. "Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Thank you."

Oliver caught some of the students' confused glances at that last statement, and he exchanged a curious look with Harry and Ron.

The woman, unfazed by Dumbledore's warning, continued. "Now, when I call your name, you will come forth, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and be sorted into your houses."

She raised the list and called, "Hermione Granger."

Hermione stood nervously, muttering to herself, "Oh no. Okay, relax."

Ron, standing beside Oliver, whispered with a smirk, "Mental, that one. I'm telling you."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, glancing at Hermione's stiff back as she approached the stool. "I don't think so," he whispered back.

Ron just shook his head as the Sorting Hat sat atop Hermione's head. It was barely on for a second before the Hat called out, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in applause as Hermione beamed and made her way to sit among her new housemates.

The woman continued, "Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy strutted forward with an air of superiority, settling himself down with a smug look. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted, "Slytherin!"

The Slytherin table cheered loudly, and Malfoy gave a satisfied smirk, joining his new house.

Ron muttered under his breath, "Every wizard who went bad was in Slytherin."

The woman continued, calling, "Susan Bones."

Susan stepped up confidently, sitting down.

Oliver noticed Harry's attention was drawn to a professor across the hall. The professor was watching Harry intently, and Harry seemed to feel the gaze, glancing back. Suddenly, Oliver saw Harry flinch, holding his head with a slight wince.

"Harry, what is it?" Ron asked, concern creeping into his voice.

Oliver turned to his cousin. "Yeah, cuz? What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "Nothing. I'm fine," he reassured them, rubbing his forehead.

The Sorting Hat, undeterred by the moment, called out, "Hufflepuff!"

Oliver saw Harry exhale in relief as Susan made her way to the Hufflepuff table.

Next, the woman announced, "Ronald Weasley."

Ron exchanged a glance with Oliver and Harry, then nervously approached the stool. As the Hat was placed on his head, it seemed to hesitate. "Ah, another Weasley!" the Hat said with a chuckle. "I know just what to do with you. Gryffindor!"

Ron sighed in relief, joining the cheering Gryffindor table.

The woman, still reading from the list, called, "Harry Potter."

Harry stood, a bit more slowly than the others, but Oliver gave him an encouraging nod. Harry walked up to the stool, and the Hat was placed atop his head.

"Hmm, difficult, very difficult," the Sorting Hat mused. "Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent... oh, yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"

Oliver saw Harry whisper something under his breath, his jaw set. The Hat seemed to pause, considering. "Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here, in your head. Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness. No? Well, if you're sure..."

The Hat hesitated a moment longer, then cried, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers as Harry joined them, and Oliver clapped him on the back with a grin.

Finally, the woman called, "Oliver Queen."

Oliver felt the weight of every eye on him as he made his way up to the stool, the whispers around him growing louder. He sat down, and the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

"Ah, yes—your mind has a bit more experience than the others, doesn't it?" the Hat mused. "You come here with preferences, expectations—certain preconceptions."

Oliver smiled inwardly. He wasn't wrong.

"I look forward to exploring Hogwarts and the world beyond the castle and grounds," Oliver answered aloud.

The Sorting Hat seemed to consider this. "Mm, indeed. Much can be learned from an adventurous spirit. But you must remember, your professors have a great deal to teach you as well."

The Hat hesitated. "You're brave at heart, certainly. Exceptionally daring, undaunted by the unknown. You're willing to forge ahead on your own when necessary."

"Ah, yes. Quite the interesting one, aren't you? A mind that's seen much more than most your age. Your experiences... they've shaped you, haven't they? You've walked paths that others wouldn't dare, faced darkness and come out the other side, stronger for it. But there's something else too. Something deeper."

The Hat paused, as though it were assessing him carefully. Oliver could feel it probing his thoughts, weighing his every decision, his fears, his ambitions.

"You are not easily swayed, are you? You have a tendency to hold onto your own convictions, even when the world around you tells you otherwise. There's a stubbornness here, a refusal to be broken by the odds. You've faced loss, hardship, and yet here you are—standing tall, determined to make your way, to find your place in this new world." The Hat seemed to smile in its own strange way. "Yes, you're a survivor. But there's more, much more."

It considered him further, its voice taking on a deeper tone. "You've built walls around your heart, haven't you? Guarded, wary of trusting others too easily. There's a darkness you carry within you, something that weighs on your soul. You've done things, terrible things, things that haunt you. But you wear it like armor, don't you? You think it makes you stronger, more resilient."

Oliver felt a pang at the Hat's words. It was true—he had done things he wasn't proud of. The memories of Lian Yu and the things he'd done to survive still lingered, like shadows on his mind. He had thought that perhaps, those things had defined him.

Oliver frowned, feeling exposed, like the Hat could see through the mask he wore. He had always tried to bury those parts of himself. Survive. Just survive.

"You're no stranger to cunning," the Hat continued, its voice growing more contemplative. "I could see you in Slytherin, Oliver. You have the traits they value: ambition, resourcefulness, and a willingness to make difficult choices. You've done it before, haven't you? Used your instincts, your sharp mind, to survive the hardest situations. It would be easy for you to slip into that house, where those qualities are prized."

Oliver felt a chill at the mention of Slytherin. The Hat wasn't wrong—he could fit there. But he had seen the dangers of that kind of thinking, the selfish ambition that could blind someone to the greater good. He wasn't sure he wanted to go down that path.

The Hat seemed to pause, sensing his hesitation. "But wait... You're not like the others in Slytherin, are you? You don't want that. You can't shake the feeling that there's something darker in that house—something that you can't let define you. The cunning, the ambition—they appeal to you, yes. But your heart tells you not to go there. You're looking for something more, something better."

The Hat seemed to nod, as if it were finally understanding. "You want to do right. You want to be better than your past, even though you carry the scars. You don't want to become someone who lets ambition blind them to the value of others. And there is bravery in that, isn't there?"

Oliver felt a small, almost imperceptible sense of relief. The Hat had seen his struggle—the battle between his darker instincts and his desire to rise above them. He didn't want to be a Slytherin. He didn't want to be defined by his past mistakes.

The Hat chuckled softly in his mind. "You're a complicated one, Oliver Queen. But bravery is something I value. Courage is what sets you apart, even if you don't see it yourself. It's a quiet kind of bravery—one that doesn't need recognition, but simply wants to do what's right."

"But," the Hat mused, "beneath that armor, I see a glimmer of something else. A heart that seeks redemption. A courage that's not born of pride, but of the desire to protect, to do better. You may not think of yourself as a hero, but heroism is not always about glory. It's about making choices when others can't, standing up when it's easier to fall. You want to be better than your past. You want to do right. You may not see it, but I do."

The Hat's voice softened, as if trying to reassure him. "You are not perfect, Oliver Queen. But I see in you the kind of bravery that can shape the future. The kind of bravery that doesn't need recognition or fame. A kind of bravery that is unyielding in the face of adversity, even when it's personal. You have the heart of a Gryffindor."

Oliver's mind raced as he processed the Hat's words. He had never thought of himself in that way. He had always been burdened by the darkness he carried, the mistakes he had made. Could it be that he was capable of something more? Something greater?

After a long pause, the Sorting Hat finally declared, "Better be... Gryffindor!"

The roar of applause from the Gryffindor table was deafening, and Oliver stood, feeling a strange weight lifted off his shoulders. As he made his way to his new housemates, he couldn't help but smile, the words of the Sorting Hat echoing in his mind. Maybe this new beginning wasn't just about Hogwarts. Maybe it was about him finding his way, after all.

After the Ceremony is over

The woman in the black hat tapped her glass to get everyone's attention. "Your attention, please," she called, and the hall went quiet.

Professor Dumbledore stood, a twinkle in his eyes, and raised his hands. "Let the feast begin!" With a swift motion, platters of food appeared on the tables, causing a wave of astonished gasps to ripple through the students.

Oliver, who was sitting beside Harry, couldn't help but stare at the abundance of food. "Wow," Harry muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Oliver grinned, picking up his fork and diving into the feast. The food was delicious—roast meats, vegetables, pies, and puddings. He couldn't resist helping himself to seconds, feeling a warm, contented feeling spread through him.

He glanced over at Ron, who was practically devouring two whole chicken drumsticks. "Blimey, Ron, are you even going to save any for the rest of us?" Oliver teased, reaching for another helping of potatoes.

Harry looked toward Percy, who was sitting nearby. "Hey, Percy, who's that talking to Professor Quirrell?"

Percy turned to him, his voice dropping into a slightly more serious tone. "Oh, that's Professor Snape, head of Slytherin House."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's he teach?"

He popped another piece of chicken into his mouth as he looked at Percy.

"Potions," Percy said. "But everyone knows he's obsessed with the Dark Arts. He's been trying to get Professor Quirrell's job for years."

As they continued eating, Oliver caught sight of Ron about to reach for more chicken when something strange happened. A ghostly figure suddenly drifted through the air, its transparent form floating effortlessly above the feast.

"Hello! How are you? Welcome to Gryffindor!" the ghost boomed cheerfully, causing some students to jump in surprise and others to burst out laughing.

Oliver turned to Percy with a raised eyebrow. "Is this a regular thing?"

Before Percy could answer, more ghosts started to float in, each one moving silently through the hall.

"Hello, Sir Nicholas!" Percy greeted the closest ghost, his tone friendly. "How was your summer?"

"Ah, dreadful, my boy," Sir Nicholas replied with a heavy sigh. "Once again, my request to join the Headless Hunt has been denied." He shook his head, clearly disappointed.

Ron stared at the ghost in awe. "I know you! You're Nearly Headless Nick!"

The ghost looked at him, mildly affronted. "I prefer Sir Nicholas, if you don't mind," he said, with a note of pride in his voice.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, curious. "Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas smiled, looking pleased to explain. "Like this," he said, grabbing his head and turning it to the side. They all stared in shock as the ghost's head barely clung to his neck, with an open, gaping hole showing inside his throat.

Ron let out a terrified scream, causing several students nearby to look over. Hermione, too, seemed taken aback, her hands flying up to cover her eyes.

Oliver, who had been watching the scene unfold, reached out and gently took Hermione's hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. She looked at him, her face pale, but gave him a nod, her fingers tightening around his as she slowly opened her eyes again.

Oliver offered her a small, comforting smile, his expression soft as he looked over at Harry. Harry, meanwhile, was just staring, his face a mixture of fascination and disbelief.

"That's... definitely one way to make an impression," Oliver muttered under his breath, and Harry gave him a half-smile, clearly trying to process the strange encounter.

To be continued...