Hello, readers. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance; if we have not already met, at least. I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. Normally, I spend my free time working on my sorting songs, but when Miss Nakao requested I write a prologue for her latest story, I decided a quick dabble into prose wouldn't hurt.

To start off, I must make a confession: there will always be sortings that stand out in my memory. It is nothing personal. There is one sorting in particular that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. This sorting took place in the year of 1971, which seems like a long time ago to most of you, I'm sure.

Many remarkable individuals were sorted that year, all of whom – I'm sure – Miss Nakao plans on mentioning in her log of the seven years following the ceremony. However, in writing this prologue, she has asked me to mention only four of the persons I sorted that year. These four young women are perhaps what made the sorting of 1971 so memorable for me. They were each sorted into a different house, but each had one thing in common with all the others: each was named after a flower.

The first flower I sorted – and perhaps the one that would eventually leave the biggest mark in the world – was Lily Evans. You might know her better as Lily Potter; mother of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Lily was a curious, wide-eyed child, full of potential. She was kind, and had a firm sense of right and wrong. Gryffindor seemed like the only place for her.

Shortly after Lily had taken her place at the Gryffindor table, I sorted the next flower, Dahlia Goyle. Dahlia was just as easy to sort; she valued blood purity and social status, even at a young age. Slytherin was the only logical choice. In fact, I think she might have known which house she would be sorted into before I did.

It wasn't until I was perched on the head of my third flower, Camellia Page, that I began to see a pattern. Camellia, like Dahlia and Lily before her, seemed to fit almost perfectly into one of the four houses. Camellia was beautiful, intelligent, and strived constantly for perfection in every aspect of her life, even at the tender age of eleven. I couldn't help but wonder if she was Rowena Ravenclaw reincarnated as she gracefully joined her fellow intellectuals at the blue-and-bronze table.

The circle completed itself when I sorted Anemone Wyatt into Hufflepuff. There was something a little funny about that girl, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it – figuratively, of course, seeing as hats don't have fingers. There was something awkward and out of place about her; I almost mistook her for a squib at first. I thought that Hufflepuff would be the best place for the little oddball.

It was too extraordinary to be a mere coincidence. Later on, when I mentioned it to Headmaster Dumbledore – may he rest in peace – he agreed; there was something very curious about the four young girls. Destiny was dancing in the air all around us, and we could feel it, though not even the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore could determine what it meant.

But, as you will read, it seems that it really was the fate of the four flowers to arrive at Hogwarts together. There's no way they could have known it, but their destinies were in fact meshed together; in the same metaphorical garden of life.

Goodness, that last line was impressive. Perhaps I should take up writing full-time?