Dear Diary,

It is nearing the witching hour and I cannot seem to stop my mind from racing with all the possibilities of tomorrow. I shall join my fellow year-mates—including Rex, who (fortunately) survived the Hogsmeade fog—a the sorting ceremony, yet I have little clue what that might entail. Chatter of the Sorting Hat has persisted in the streets of Hogsmeade, yet I've received little explanation to what really happens when the students arrive to be sorted.

(Merriweather tells me nothing, of course—something about the preserving the magic for the incoming first years. It is, supposedly, somewhat of a tradition to hide details of the ceremony from one's younger siblings!)

I have filled with hopes for tomorrow, but all I truly desire is to make new friends while keeping the ones I love dearly in the present. I know that the odds of being place in the same house as every friend are likely, but the thought of being separated from everyone is perhaps my greatest fear.

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