The train finally slowed with a hiss and a clunk, and a wave of nervous energy ran through the first-years like static. Doors slid open, revealing a chilly dusk outside, and one by one, we stepped out onto the stone platform of Hogsmeade Station. The air smelled damp and green, like moss and rain on old wood. Everything was misty and glowing slightly under the flickering lamps.
I stepped onto the platform, boots tapping softly. Ron grunted behind me, hauling his trunk with a kind of clumsy grace, and Daphne, as ever, looked like the fog parted just for her.
"Firs' years! Over here! That's it — stick together now!"
There was no mistaking that voice. Hagrid stood nearby, holding up a lantern, his presence somehow both ridiculous and reassuring. Most of the group started drifting toward him instinctively.
Daphne and I joined the crowd, though she kept a careful distance from the loudest students. I let my awareness expand, just a little. The magic here was heavier, thicker than anywhere else I'd ever been. Not threatening, just... old. Like the ground itself had stories.
We followed Hagrid down a winding trail that opened up onto a view that made even the most chatty students fall quiet.
The lake.
It looked like the night sky had spilled onto the earth. Still and black, it reflected the stars above so perfectly that for a second, it felt like we were staring into the sky again. But what really caught everyone's attention was what sat on the far side.
Hogwarts.
It looked unreal, a castle carved out of dreams and fog. Tall spires, lit windows, shadows moving inside. The turrets looked like they belonged to a storybook, and the bridge arcing across the ravine, seemed like that guarded by a pair of lion-headed statues? Because they sure looked like they blinked.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid bellowed, snapping us out of it.
Daphne and I grabbed a boat near the front, joined by two silent students who looked like they were trying not to be sick with nerves. The boats glided forward on their own, no oars or ropes, just silent motion. The water didn't ripple much. It was too smooth, too quiet. Like the lake respected the moment.
I looked up. And sky is full of stars, also a full moon. Then Hogwarts the castle, getting closer to me.
We passed under a cliff and into a cave lit with witchlight—green, soft, and oddly peaceful. The boats bumped gently against a small dock, and we climbed out, following the path up through a stone tunnel that practically hummed with enchantments. Torches flicked on as we passed. Old ones, probably lit by magic woven into the walls centuries ago.
We came out into a courtyard surrounded by stone statues. Most of them looked like your typical medieval figures, but a few had eyes that glinted just a little too intelligently. One, a coiled serpent around a book, seemed to study us. Or maybe it was just the light.
Then came the doors.
They were massive. Oak, with carvings all over them with vines, animals, runes. They looked like they could hold back a dragon. As we gathered around, they creaked open slowly, revealing a tall woman in emerald robes and a sharp expression.
Professor McGonagall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said.
"The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly. While you wait, compose yourselves. You represent not only your names, but your future legacy."
She explained little more about house sorting and didn't wait for a reply, just turned and led us into a side chamber. Inside, it was warmer, with more candles, and more polished surfaces. The kind of place where nerves tend to wake up.
We were left to stand in clusters, whispers already bubbling up like kettle steam. Several students craned their necks toward the door we'd come through, as if expecting someone to return and explain.
"Are we going to be tested?" someone asked nervously.
"Like, actual spells?" said another. "But we haven't learned anything yet!"
"Maybe they'll duel us," one boy joked, though his voice cracked halfway through.
That's when a familiar drawl cut through the murmurs like a butter knife through warm scones.
"Honestly," said Draco Malfoy, stepping forward with a lazy sort of arrogance, "do you really think they'd let people in and then flunk them out on the first night? It's just to see where you belong. Just the old hat decides it. That's what my father said."
Ron grimaced. "Well, if your dad said it, I'm sure it's very fair."
Draco ignored him, flicking a piece of lint off his robes. Then his eyes landed on Harry.
"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" he asked suddenly. "This is a big moment for you. I can help you, you know. Some wizarding families are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
Harry stared for a moment, then looked toward Ron.
"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," he said, cool and firm.
Draco's smirk faltered for just a second before he turned away, pretending he hadn't been slighted.
But Ron, never one to let a grudge go quiet, muttered under his breath, "Slimy little ferret..."
Draco turned back, sharp and fast. "What did you say, Weasley? Still wearing secondhand robes and mouthing off like you're someone?"
Ron stepped forward, face red. "Better secondhand than second-rate!"
Hermione gasped, and a few other students edged away from what was clearly about to become a scene.
But before Ron could do anything else, Harry, who had remained unusually silent, stepped up beside him."You've said enough, Malfoy," Harry cut in, stepping forward. "Pick a fight with someone who deserves it, not someone you've just decided to look down on."
Draco opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, and this time, he didn't hesitate. "And I've had enough of half-bloods thinking they know everything."
"Say that again," Ron growled, clenching his fists.
Draco sneered. "Gladly. Half. Blood."
Harry moved fast, stepping directly into Draco's space. "You think you're better just 'cause you talk louder? Say that again and we'll see how big you are without your mouth."
Draco's hand twitched toward his wand even though it is subtle, instinctive—but it was enough.
Ron reached for his as well, eyes blazing. "Go on, then!"
Gasps echoed around the chamber. Tension crackled like static. Even a few of the portraits on the walls seemed to be watching.
That's when I stepped forward, my voice was sharp and cold. "Enough. This isn't Knockturn Alley. If you want to duel, do it after you're sorted, that mean if you all not getting expelled"
Draco turned his glare on me, wand still half-raised "Stay out of this, Greengrass"
"Malfoy," I said, voice level, "there's no need to start a rivalry before we've even sat through our first meal. You want to prove yourself? Then keep your head and wait for the right moment. It's smarter."
Draco blinked, surprised by the shift in tone, but not displeased. His grip on his wand loosened slightly, a flicker of mutual understanding passing between us.
Daphne followed up with a narrowed glance at Ron. "And you, Weasley," she said coolly, "you're letting him bait you too easily. If you're going to throw insults, at least make them clever."
Draco smirked faintly but didn't push further. Ron scowled, but didn't answer. Whatever tension lingered in the air, it settled into a silent truce, not a friendship kind, but recognition.
Draco lowered his wand fully. "Fine," he muttered. "Not worth it. But only because Greengrass is right."
Ron huffed, still bristling. "Yeah. Well. Same here. Just don't think I'm scared of him."
The tension began to ebb, replaced by a quiet relief that buzzed through the group like a sigh of wind through tall grass."
Before the doors could open again, they creaked just slightly and Professor McGonagall stepped back in. Her sharp gaze swept the group, pausing precisely on the cluster of students still bristling from the standoff.
"What is going on here?" she asked, her voice cutting and expectant.
Draco stiffened. Ron opened his mouth.
I stepped forward smoothly. "We Just have a couple differences in opinion, Professor. Nothing more. Everyone was... spirited, but no lines crossed."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Then, with a crisp nod, she turned on her heel.
"Very well."
Then the doors opened again.
And the Great Hall took my breath away.
It was vast like a cathedral had decided to go into wizardry. Four long tables stretched the length of the room, packed with students in house colors. Above us, candles floated midair, their flames steady despite the lack of wind. The ceiling, it was the night sky. Not painted one but Real.
It wasn't just beautiful; it is more than that. The walls had carvings, the shadows moved with more grace than chance should allow, and the enchanted ceiling responded when we entered, the stars twinkling just a little brighter, like Hogwarts itself was paying attention.
A small stool sat at the front of the room.
On it, an old, beat-up hat.
The Sorting Hat.
Its brim twitched. Then it opened its mouth and sang. The voice was rough but rhythmic, half-speech and half-song. It sang about the four founders, about values, choices, and destinies. It was informative and a little dramatic, like an old actor who still knew how to hold a room.
When it finished, the students clapped politely. Then McGonagall unrolled her scroll.
Names were called one by one.
Whenever the name called, students stepped forward, placed the hat on their heads, and waited. Some got their answers instantly. Others sat there for what must have felt like forever.
"Granger, Hermione!"
She practically ran to the stool.
The hat thought for a while.
Then: "GRYFFINDOR!"
Cheers. She looked like she'd won something.
"Longbottom, Neville!"
He tripped walking up, but got sorted into Gryffindor with a huge grin.
"Malfoy, Draco."
"SLYTHERIN" the Hat said before it even settled.
"Potter, Harry"
Whispers everywhere, which rolled like a ripple across the entire hall as every eye locked on the boy who lived, while Harry walked slowly to the stool, pale but composed, and the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.
It didn't shout immediately, which made the pause stretch long enough that I found myself watching not just Harry, but also the faces at the staff table.
Professor Quirrell looked nervous, tugging at his collar as though his skin didn't quite fit right, and given what I knew or suspected about his passenger, I couldn't help but wonder what Voldemort might be thinking, watching Harry Potter get Sorted into the school he once haunted like a legend carved in shadow.
Dumbledore, though still smiling, had narrowed his eyes slightly, and there was a twinkle of calculation behind those half-moon spectacles, which made me wonder if he was already crafting one of his infamous plans based on love, sacrifice, or some higher mystery, though I still wasn't sure whether he was the benevolent protector everyone believed in or simply the most talented chessmaster the wizarding world had ever seen.
And Snape, well, he looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon soaked in firewhisky, the hatred in his eyes was sharp, but it wasn't simple hate; it was layered with bitterness and pain, since Harry represented everything he had lost, with Lily's eyes and James's face combined into one living memory, and I could only imagine how it must feel to see both your deepest grief and your greatest regret looking back at you.
Then the hat finally yelled: "GRYFFINDOR!"
The hall exploded with applause, shouts, and even a few stunned murmurs.
Then it was Daphne's turn.
She walked up as though she'd been preparing for this moment her whole life, every step measured, every motion deliberate, and when the hat touched her head, it barely had to think before shouting:
"SLYTHERIN!"
She stepped down with that same poised calm and gave me a glance, not quite a smile, but something knowing.
And finally,
"Greengrass, Lucian."
Right.
I walked forward, feeling the shift in energy from the crowd as the buzz quieted but not completely, just enough to tell me I had their attention, I sat on the stool while the Sorting Hat slipped over my eyes and everything turned dark.
"Oh. Well now. This is different."
The voice was calm and observant.
"You plan ahead, and you think in layers. There's ambition in you—Slytherin would suit that nicely."
"But you also want to know things, to understand how the world works, and that craving would be well nurtured in Ravenclaw."
"Still, there's a spark in you, something reckless buried beneath the logic, and that spark would thrive in Gryffindor."
It paused—not for drama, but for true thought.
"You don't quite fit into a single box. Few ever do. So then... where shall I put you?"
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*✨ Here it is—the moment of truth.Where do you think Lucian truly belongs?⚔️ Gryffindor for his boldness?🐍 Slytherin for his cunning?🦅 Ravenclaw for that calculating intellect?💛 Or Hufflepuff... just for the fun? 😏
💎 Drop your vote in the comments and toss a Power Stone if you're backing Lucian's house journey! *