Harry Potter: The Soldier of Hogwarts

The first years gathered awkwardly near the lake, a cluster of nervous children dressed in various states of confusion, some clutching second-hand cloaks too tightly against the cold wind. The dark waters of the Black Lake rippled gently beneath the looming silhouette of the castle in the distance, lights glittering like stars nestled in stone.

I kept close to Rose and Lyra, doing my best not to look as clueless as I felt. I could still hear echoes of the laughter from earlier on the train. My first real joke in this world, and I was already gaining an audience. Not bad, I suppose.

Then, something—or rather, someone—stepped forward, her heels clicking against the stone like punctuation marks against the silence.

"First years! This way, if you please!"

I blinked.

No.

It couldn't be.

Rose and Lyra were already walking ahead as I froze, watching the woman's silhouette become clearer. Her tall figure carried the weight of authority with ease. She wore deep emerald green robes that fluttered faintly in the breeze.

Mrs. McGonagall.

The same woman who had help me just enter the world of the Wizard..

I nearly choked on my own breath. "Wait. What?!"

Rose turned. "What's wrong?"

"That's Mrs. McGonagall," I whispered, still pointing, still half-dumbfounded. "I thought she was like...some government official. I didn't know she worked at the school!"

"She's the Deputy Headmistress," Rose said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She's been at Hogwarts for decades."

"She also teaches Transfiguration," Lyra added.

"She never told me!" I hissed, now realizing how clueless I must have sounded in front of her.

"Oh?" Rose raised an eyebrow, amused. "Didn't think to ask her job title?"

"I thought she was just some stiff, important lady from the Ministry or something," I muttered. "She didn't exactly hand me a resume."

We reached the front of the group, and McGonagall's eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk. When her gaze landed on me, a flicker of recognition passed across her expression.

"Ah. Mr. Ryan," she said with a clipped nod. "I see you've found your way here safely."

I tried not to look like an idiot. "Yes, ma'am. The train didn't explode, so... success?"

Her lips quirked just slightly, but the expression vanished before it could fully form. "Good. come now Children. Quickly now."

McGonagall led the way up a stone staircase, her robes swishing with each step. I kept behind Rose, my mind still reeling.

At the top of the stairs, a large wooden door came into view.

McGonagall turned to face us.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "In a few moments, you will be sorted into your houses. While you are here, your house will be like your family. You will sleep in your house dormitories, attend classes with your housemates, and earn or lose points on behalf of your house through your behavior and academic performance."

I raised my hand.

"Yes, Mr. Ryan?"

"Do you always do this? I mean do the speech, the boat ride, the dramatic flair of Hogwarts castle every year?"

She tilted her head. "Indeed."

I nodded thoughtfully. "That's dedication."

A few chuckles rippled through the group.

"I believe in tradition," she said firmly. "Now, do try to remain composed when you enter. The entire school will be watching."

She opened the door.

Warm light spilled out.

My stomach twisted.

And then we walked in.

The Great Hall was nothing short of a spectacle.

Massive floating candles hovered in the air like glowing jellyfish, flickering warm light over four long tables where hundreds of students sat in black robes. Above us, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky—inky clouds rolling over silver-streaked stars, impossibly real.

I tilted my head back to stare. "Okay. That's… actually impressive."

Rose grinned beside me. "The ceiling's enchanted to reflect the outside sky. It's my favorite thing here."

Lyra leaned close. "Don't trip over your awe, Ryan."

"Noted. I'll trip over something else, then."

A hush fell over the hall as Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long scroll in hand and an old, patched wizard's hat placed on a stool.

I blinked. "Wait. That's the Sorting Hat?"

Lyra nodded, excited. "Just wait till it sings."

"Sings?"

And then, as if on cue, the hat twitched, opened a wide seam of a mouth, and began to sing.

"A thousand years or more ago, when I was freshly stitched… The founders four from far and wide, had houses to enrich…"

My eyebrows climbed. I stared at the hat in amazement. "The hat sings."

Rose muffled a snort. "Every year"

I crossed my arms. "Right. The flying candles? Fine. Talking ghosts? Sure. But this—this is the line."

"You get used to it," Lyra said. "Eventually."

The song continued, describing the traits of each house: bravery for Gryffindor, wisdom for Ravenclaw, loyalty for Hufflepuff, ambition for Slytherin.

The last line echoed dramatically: "So try me on and I will see, where you belong so perfectly!"

Applause followed, and McGonagall stepped forward again, unrolling her scroll. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A girl with big eyes and frizzy hair shuffled forward. The hat barely touched her head before shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Cheers erupted from the table to our far left.

One by one, names were called, and students took their seats. I watched intently, trying to piece together the Sorting Hat's logic.

After "Granger, Hermione" and "Weasley, Ronald" I started fidgeting. The nerves were catching up.

"Are you nervous?" Lyra whispered.

"No," I lied. "Just… wondering if they let people keep the hat. I could use a sass-hat in my life."

She snorted. "You might get along."

Finally:

"Ashford, Ryan!"

I blinked. "Oh. That's me."

Lyra gave me a playful push. "Go get 'em, tiger."

I walked slowly to the front, ignoring the whispers and curious stares from across the Hall. As I sat down and the Hat was lowered onto my head, everything else dimmed.

"Ah… what do we have here?" the Hat's voice purred in my mind. "Interesting. Very interesting…"

"Uh… hi?" I thought awkwardly.

"Hmm, brave, clever, cunning, and—oh, what's this? Sharp tongue. Sharper instincts. You're not afraid of confrontation. But you are… new. Very new."

"Gee, how could you tell? The confused look, or the part where I didn't grow up knowing any of this?"

"You're a curious case. You think fast. You question faster. Not one to follow the crowd. You'd do well in Ravenclaw… but you wouldn't thrive. Hufflepuff? No… you'd get bored. Gryffindor? Tempting. But you're not reckless—you're calculating. You play the long game."

"…You're about to say it, aren't you?"

"Indeed. Better be… SLYTHERIN!"

The word echoed like thunder across the Hall.

For a second, silence.

Ryan removed the Sorting Hat and stepped down from the stool, his expression unreadable. He turned just enough to see Rose's eyes go wide. Lyra's jaw fell open. Even Harry looked shocked.

Ron leaned toward Hermione. "Wait, he's in Slytherin?"

Hermione said nothing, lips pressed tight. Neville looked confused but sympathetic.

Ryan walked toward the Slytherin table, which clapped politely — though not exactly with enthusiasm. A few seats shifted away as he approached, though one older student made room at the end of the bench.

"Move down," the older boy muttered, shoving a younger first-year.

Ryan sat, trying to ignore the weight of dozens of eyes on him. He could feel the chill of it. The quiet rejection. He didn't need to be told he was unwelcome — the air had already shifted.

Draco Malfoy, who was seated several spots down, gave a sneer loud enough to carry. "Great. As if this year couldn't get any worse — now we've got a Mudblood in Slytherin."

Ryan turned his head slowly. "I'm sorry, was that supposed to be an insult or the sound of a rat choking?"

Gasps came from around the Slytherin table. One or two students smirked at the remark, but most looked uncomfortable.

Pansy Parkinson snorted. "He doesn't even know what it means. Pathetic."

"I know what it means," Ryan said calmly. "It means I'm not inbred."

A few more gasps. Blaise Zabini gave a small snort of laughter but quickly masked it.

Draco's face reddened. "You better watch yourself, Ashford. You don't belong here."

"Clearly, your ferret face disagrees," Ryan said with an air of finality, then turned back to his plate, feigning nonchalance.

At the Gryffindor table, Rose Potter's fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white.

"I can't believe it," she whispered, barely audible over the chatter of the Hall. "He's in Slytherin?"

Beside her, Lyra's face was a mixture of confusion and discomfort. "The Sorting Hat must've seen something in him… I just don't get it. He's not like them. He's not like Malfoy."

"He's not," Rose agreed fiercely. Her emerald eyes flicked over to the Slytherin table, where Ryan was now sitting with a straight back and a carefully unreadable expression. "He can't be."

But he was.

The green and silver robes being magically distributed to the newly sorted students said so.

And the distance between their tables felt like miles.