Chapter 10: Where Would I Make the Most Difference? (Modified Sorting Order Edition)**

Inside the Great Hall, four long tables stretched across the room, packed with students of all kinds. Above, thousands of floating candles bathed the hall in warm, flickering light. Golden plates and goblets gleamed on the tables, while at the far end, another long table held the faculty—about twenty or so professors. In the center sat an elderly man with half-moon glasses, his sharp eyes glinting with wisdom. Dumbledore himself looked exactly like his portrait on the Chocolate Frog cards. To Edward, everything felt thrillingly new. He tilted his head back, marveling at the enchanted ceiling, as dark as velvet and speckled with stars that seemed even more vivid than the real night sky. He'd read about it in *Hogwarts: A History*—a weather-modifying charm on a grand scale. The *Knight's Guide to Magic* mentioned similar spells, but those altered actual environments, not just ceilings. They could turn a clear sky into a storm of clouds, rain, or even lightning. For an army clad in plate armor and wielding metal weapons, a thunderstorm was a perfect target. Of course, such spells required complex rituals first. The first-years filed down the aisle, forming two rows in front of the staff table. Before them, on a raised step, sat an old wooden chair with a tattered wizard's hat perched on it—the Sorting Hat. "Please wait here," Professor McGonagall said, standing beside the chair. Every eye in the hall turned to the hat. Then, under everyone's gaze, the hat twitched, its brim splitting like a wide mouth, and it burst into song. Even with Edward's extraordinary focus, he couldn't recall a single word of the song once it ended—it was utterly tuneless. Maybe it was more like the "rap" he'd heard in his past life? After thunderous applause, the hat gave a slight bow and went still. McGonagall unrolled a parchment. "When I call your name, come forward. I'll place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will decide your house." "Hannah Abbott!" A girl with two blonde braids stumbled forward nervously and put on the hat. A moment later— "Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted. Edward stifled a laugh, recalling his parents' take on Hufflepuff: "They might have all sorts of traits, but one thing's universal—they love to eat." What a way for the foodies to kick off the Sorting! Though, to be fair, Edward was pretty fond of eating himself. His breathing techniques demanded a hefty appetite, after all. Then, out of nowhere, he heard his name. "Edward Bedivere!" The hall fell silent for a split second before erupting into whispers. "That's the Bedivere kid? He's starting this year?" "He doesn't even *look* eleven with that height—I thought he was a senior!" "Didn't he put Malfoy in his place? Bet he's Gryffindor material." Edward froze for a moment, then strode forward confidently. His knightly sense of empathy picked up on several intense gazes—Daphne, who hadn't been sorted yet; Harry; Ron; and, of course, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Ignoring their stares, Edward placed the hat on his head. "Ah! Ancient blood, a knight of the Round Table—older than me, older than this school!" the hat whispered. "You outshine even your father—humble, upright, brave, sincere, just. Truly dazzling! But there's a touch of your mother, too—sharp-witted, gifted, and with a fierce ambition. Oh, no, don't misunderstand, ambition's not a bad word. Perhaps 'aspiration' fits better?" "This is a tough one. Where should I place you?" The hat sounded genuinely stumped. "Hold on a moment. I might have an idea," Edward said suddenly. "Oh? Do tell!" The hat perked up, intrigued. "I get that you sort us based on our personalities and deepest desires, matching us to the house that fits best. But as the embodiment of Hogwarts' will, have you ever considered what's best for the school itself? Where we'd make the most impact?" "So, I'm asking you to think about this: where would I make the most difference?" Edward sat ramrod straight on the stool, his voice soft but clear enough for nearly everyone in the hall to hear. Students whispering among themselves, professors watching the ceremony closely, and nervous first-years waiting their turn all paused, pondering what Edward meant. Though he faced away from the staff table, Edward could feel new gazes on him. Dumbledore's eyes, peering over his half-moon glasses, sparkled with interest. And there were others—likely the heads of the four houses. The Sorting Hat fell silent. It was, perhaps, the longest it had ever deliberated. Six minutes passed, and the hall grew deathly quiet, the earlier murmurs fading away. Everyone waited for the hat's decision. "This is a difficult path—very, very difficult. I understand what you're asking, but it will demand immense effort. Are you sure?" the hat finally said. "I'm certain," Edward replied, brimming with confidence. A knight must embrace adventure, after all. "Very well, then—"