While the Sorting continued, Jasper leaned slightly toward his tablemates, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley and Penelope Clearwater. He tuned out the echo of the Sorting Hat's voice as it continued declaring the future of trembling first-years.
Jasper, as always, was more interested in understanding the present.
"So, what years are you two in?" he asked, sipping from a goblet of pumpkin juice like he was at a diplomatic banquet.
Rosie twirled a strand of golden hair around her finger.
"Third year. And you've already caused more drama than I did in two."
Penelope replied crisply,
"Fifth year. And I take O.W.L.s this year, so do try not to bring your genius too close to my revision schedule."
"Noted," Jasper said, amused. "What about backgrounds? Magical upbringing, half-blood…?"
Rosie tilted her chin upward proudly.
"Pureblood, darling. Not that I care much about it, but my family does."
Penelope snorted.
"Muggleborn. Shocking, I know—someone who actually knew how a TV worked before she learned how to levitate a feather."
They both turned to Jasper.
He shrugged casually.
"Unknown. I was left at an orphanage with a note that read, and I quote, 'He's your problem now.'"
There was a pause.
Rosie's expression softened. Her playful posture straightened. Then, without a word, she lean toward him and pulled him into a quick but firm hug.
Jasper blinked.
"This is unexpected physical contact."
"Shut up and accept the affection, genius boy," Rosie murmured.
A few of the older boys at the Ravenclaw table saw this. One leaned over to his friend and muttered not-so-quietly:
"Lucky bastard."
Penelope arched a brow and whispered to Jasper:
"That's Garret. Don't mind him. He's been rejected by Rosie three times."
"Four," Rosie corrected sweetly.
Jasper sipped his drink again.
"Statistical jealousy is always more transparent than people think."
Before Penelope could respond, a hush fell over the Great Hall.
McGonagall cleared her throat and read the next name:
"Potter, Harry."
The silence sharpened like a blade. Dozens of heads turned.
Whispers rippled through the room like fire across parchment.
"Did she say Potter?"
"Harry Potter?"
"The Boy Who Lived?"
"He's real?"
Even Rosie straightened, her previous warmth replaced with curiosity.
Jasper leaned over and asked,
"What's a Harry Potter?"
Penelope choked on her pumpkin juice.
"You don't know who Harry Potter is?!"
"No. Should I?" Jasper asked, completely unfazed.
Rosie giggled again.
"You are delightfully out of touch."
"I consider it a strength," Jasper said dryly.
At the front of the room, a small boy with round glasses and a mop of messy black hair walked forward under the weight of a thousand expectations. He looked nervous. Lost.
Jasper tilted his head.
"He doesn't look like a legend."
"He is one," Penelope whispered. "You might want to read a history book. That kid took down You-Know-Who when he was still in diapers."
Jasper leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing—not with suspicion, but deep scientific curiosity.
"Now that's interesting…"
"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat bellowed.
Cheers exploded from the Gryffindor table as Harry Potter removed the hat and shuffled quickly toward them, red-faced but grinning awkwardly.
Almost instantly, whispers and murmurs began spreading across the Ravenclaw table.
Speculation. Theories. Wild guesses. No small amount of hero-worship.
Especially among the fifth years.
"It had to be something in his blood," one student claimed. "Potter blood must've repelled the curse."
"Don't be daft," another countered. "He's clearly a vessel of ancient magic. Maybe even a reincarnated light being—"
"No, no," Garret interrupted, puffing up like a toad. "He must've reflected the Killing Curse with baby tears. I've read babies have untapped reservoirs of raw magic. That must've done it."
At that, a short chuckle escaped Jasper.
It wasn't loud, but it was sharp. Surgical.
The kind that slices through idiocy with perfect timing.
All eyes turned to him. Especially Garret's.
"Got something better to say, first-year?" Garret asked with narrowed eyes. "Don't tell me you think you understand magic better than me."
Jasper turned slowly, deliberately, his eyes gleaming like polished sapphires.
Then he laughed.
Not mockingly—but genuinely. Light, amused, and effortlessly dismissive.
"A Ravenclaw," Jasper said, still chuckling, "who's already spent years in this school… and yet dares to say something that impressively stupid?"
Gasps came from nearby. Some students turned to watch. Penelope was already biting her lip, fighting a smile. Rosie was not fighting hers.
Garret's ears turned red.
Jasper leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.
"Let me, a boy who hasn't even spent a full hour in this castle, teach something to a group of supposedly clever minds."
He looked Garret dead in the eye.
"If Harry Potter wasn't even three months old—like you just confidently claimed—when the Dark Lord was destroyed, then there's absolutely no way he had anything to do with it."
"Magic, from what little I've gathered, whether accidental or intentional, requires intent."
"A baby," he said flatly, "has no intent to kill. Or even survive. At that age, their highest cognitive function is choosing between crying and not crying."
Garret opened his mouth, but Jasper raised a hand.
"So, logically, someone else did something that night. I'd bet on his mother."
Now students were actually listening.
Jasper continued, voice quiet but precise.
"Because—again, based on what I do know—magic is strongest when it's driven by will and intention. And there's no greater intention than a mother protecting her child."
He leaned back, letting the weight of his words settle.
"It wasn't ancient bloodlines, or divine sparkles, or magical baby tears. It was love. Will. Sacrifice. The kind of primal force that can rewrites the rules."
Silence.
Even Garret couldn't find a response. His jaw opened. Closed. Then he looked away, furious.
Rosie leaned in toward Jasper with a grin.
"You really do enjoy making enemies fast, don't you?"
Jasper sipped his drink again, calm as a storm's eye.
"Only when they insist on earning it."
Penelope chuckled.
"I think Ravenclaw just got a little more interesting."
As the final name was called and the Sorting Hat whisked away, a hush fell over the hall once again. The golden plates gleamed, but remained empty.
At the head of the room, the aged man in deep-purple robes stood from the center chair—a figure Jasper had already categorized as eccentric, possibly theatrical, potentially brilliant.
Albus Dumbledore.
The Great Hall seemed to hold its breath.
Dumbledore spread his arms wide, smiling warmly—like a grandfather offering sweets and secrets in the same breath.
"Welcome!" he said, voice carrying without the need for amplification. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! I have just a few words before we begin our feast—and here they are:"
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
Scattered laughter erupted from some students. Confused glances from others.
Jasper?
He tilted his head, one brow raised.
"Intentional nonsense," he muttered. "Likely testing auditory retention and group behavior. Possibly senile. Possibly genius."
Penelope leaned toward him.
"Yeah, we all still haven't figured that out."
Dumbledore smiled as if he'd just cast a spell on the whole room, and then with a simple clap—
Food appeared.
Glorious food. Towering roasts, mashed potatoes, puddings, meats, jugs of pumpkin juice, trays of treacle tart.
Jasper blinked once.
Efficient transfiguration? Instant conjuration? Food duplication? Magical storage system?
He reached for a baked potato and analyzed the texture with a fork.
"Warm. Soft. No degradation. Definitely preserved or frozen beforehand. Magic used to maintain chemical structure post-preparation…"
Rosie beside him was piling her plate high with elegance.
"You're analyzing the food, aren't you?"
"Of course. You're eating something that just appeared out of nowhere. Most people don't ask where their food came from. I find that disturbing."
Penelope rolled her eyes.
"Let him do his Sherlock thing. He'll forget to eat if you don't remind him."
"I don't forget to eat," Jasper corrected. "I choose to delay until the mystery is solved."
But the moment he tasted the pumpkin pasty, he paused mid-thought.
"...Damn. That's good."
The feast gradually faded into dessert, and dessert into a quiet buzz of full stomachs and sleepy eyes. Jasper, however, remained sharp-eyed—still sipping pumpkin juice and scribbling something into a pocket-sized notebook beneath the table.
At the staff table, Dumbledore rose once more.
His voice quieted the Great Hall instantly.
"Now that we are all well-fed and satisfied, I must remind you of a few important notices…"
Jasper barely looked up—but he listened.
"First-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is, as its name suggests, forbidden to all students. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, wishes me to remind you that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are Fanged Frisbees, exploding snap decks, or—regrettably—Dungbombs."
A few snickers from the Gryffindor table.
Jasper made a mental note: Investigation pending—Fanged Frisbees?
Then Dumbledore's voice lowered.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
"Also… the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly off-limits to all students… unless you wish to die a very painful death."
Dead silence.
Even the ceiling above seemed to flicker slightly, like the castle itself was reacting.
Jasper blinked once, very slowly.
Now that's what I call deliberate misdirection laced with foreshadowing. A riddle wrapped in theatrical suspense. I love it.
Rosie leaned in and whispered:
"He always says something like that. Last year it was about staying away from a cursed broom closet."
Jasper nodded slowly, thoughtful.
"Well, statistically speaking, the more dramatic the warning, the more tempting the mystery."
Dumbledore smiled once more, clapped his hands gently—and the golden plates vanished, clean and spotless.
"That is all. Off to bed you go."
Chairs scraped. Yawns echoed. Students began standing.
Penelope rose gracefully and turned toward the cluster of first-year Ravenclaws.
"Ravenclaw first-years—with me."
Her voice was calm but commanding.
As he stood up from the bench,Rosie caught his sleeve before he followed.
"Goodnight, Jasper," she said softly. "Try not to destroy anyone's ego in their sleep."
Jasper gave her a small nod.
"Only if provoked."
She grinned.
As he turned to follow Penelope and the rest of the first-years, Jasper glanced once more at the enchanted ceiling above, the distant stars, and the warm flicker of candlelight below.
A forbidden corridor. A boy with a lightning scar. Magical artifacts. Sentient hats. Instant food. Bizarre physics. Hidden intentions. And absolutely no Wi-Fi.
His fingers twitched for a pencil.
I'm going to enjoy this.
Immensely.
The marble staircases creaked and shifted as Penelope Clearwater led the Ravenclaw first-years through the winding heart of the castle. Jasper walked near the front, hands in his pockets, quietly analyzing every turn and torch bracket.
Behind them, other first-years whispered excitedly.
"Did you see the floating ghosts?"
"I can't believe we're actually here!"
"That pudding was magic. Literally."
Jasper, meanwhile, was silently recalculating the corridor layout, comparing ceiling height consistency and speculating how deep into the cliffside Ravenclaw Tower was embedded.
Finally, they arrived at a tall arch-shaped door of aged oak and blue-bronze trim.
There were no handles. No visible hinges.
Above it, an elegant bronze eagle was perched, its wings partially spread, eyes like cut sapphires.
Penelope turned to the group, her prefect badge glinting in the torchlight.
"Alright, pay attention—this is the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room."
She gestured to the eagle.
"We don't use passwords like the other houses. Instead, you must answer a riddle. Get it right, the door opens. Get it wrong… and you'll be waiting until someone else answers it for you."
Some of the first-years shifted uncomfortably.
"What if we never get it?" a boy whispered.
"Then you'll study until you do," Penelope said sweetly. "Now, let's see if you can solve this one."
The bronze eagle's beak opened, and a cool, ringing voice echoed:
"I am always hungry,
I must always be fed,
The finger I touch,
Will soon turn red.
What am I?"
The first-years went quiet.
"Uhh… a monster?"
"A wand?"
"Embarrassment?" someone whispered.
Penelope smiled gently and opened her mouth to give the answer—
But Jasper spoke first.
"Fire," he said flatly.
All heads turned to him.
"It's fire," he repeated, stepping forward. "Always hungry. Requires fuel. Burns anything it touches. Including fingers."
There was a pause.
Then the eagle gave a small nod, and the door creaked open, revealing a spiraling staircase and a faint blue glow from above.
Penelope blinked, visibly surprised.
"Well then… impressive."
Jasper shrugged.
"That one was easy. Hopefully they get harder."
The other first-years stared at him with a mix of awe and confusion.
As they filed into the elegant Ravenclaw common room, bathed in moonlight through arched windows, Penelope leaned toward Jasper and said with a smirk:
"You've made quite the impression tonight, Allister."
Jasper glanced up at the towering ceiling, the enchanted stars shifting subtly.
"That's the idea."
The Ravenclaw common room was nothing short of beautiful. It rose high and wide like a great library observatory—arched windows framed the night sky, domed ceilings revealed constellations, and the furniture was carved in elegant blues and silvers with moonlit accents. Bookshelves hugged every wall like quiet guardians of knowledge.
The students trickled in, many wide-eyed and whispering. Jasper, meanwhile, rotated slowly on the spot, taking in the architecture with mild interest.
Hexagonal layout. Star map integration. Load-bearing arches. Beautiful symmetry. Probably acoustically engineered for silence… impressive.
At the center of the room stood Penelope, who clapped her hands twice to gather attention. The murmuring dimmed.
"Alright, listen up, first-years—this is important."
Her voice was clear, authoritative, but not unkind.
"First: all our dorms are individual. You'll find your name written on the door—makes it easier to adjust and feel at home."
That sparked some murmurs of approval.
"Second," she said, eyes narrowing slightly as if recalling a very specific incident,
"no boys are allowed in the girls' dormitory."
She pointed to the right staircase.
"The stairs themselves will literally stop you. If a boy tries to walk up them, they'll turn into a slide."
There was a small laugh from Rosie and a wince from one older boy sitting in an armchair nearby.
Penelope added with a slight smirk,
"And from what I've personally witnessed—it hurts. A lot."
Jasper raised a hand.
"Does the reverse apply?"
"No," Penelope replied immediately. "Girls can go up the boys' stairs just fine. Apparently, centuries ago, the founders decided that girls were more trustworthy."
Jasper nodded thoughtfully.
"Sexist magical architecture. Noted."
That got a soft laugh from a few of the older students still lingering in the common room.
Penelope continued:
"Third: Ravenclaw has no official curfew within the tower. You're free to study, read, experiment, or conduct quiet existential crises during the night—"
A few students chuckled.
"—as long as you respect your housemates. Some of them are seventh-years with exams, research, or extremely fragile sleep schedules. If you're going to stay up, keep it quiet."
Then she gestured to the staircases.
"Boys' dorms are on the left, girls' on the right. You'll find everything you need inside—trunk, bedding and other belongings."
Penelope gave Jasper a small wave before heading toward her dorm.
"Goodnight, Jasper. Try not to break anything your first night."
"No promises," he replied simply.
As the group dispersed, Jasper approached the left-hand staircase and began climbing. As promised, each polished door had a bronze nameplate—Michael Corner,Terry Boot,Anthony Goldstein.....
And then:
J. ALLISTER
He opened the door to a clean, round room with a tall window, a wide desk, a bookshelf with a few starter tomes, and a bed perfectly made.
He stepped inside, closed the door quietly, and for a moment…
He just stood there.
Looking around.
Breathing.
Thinking.
Then he smiled faintly to himself.
"Now… where shall I start?"