HP- Reborn as Merlin's incarnation

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Chapter 18: The Sorting Ceremony

"All first years here! All first years, this way!" Hagrid's booming voice echoed through the air. he was as tall as describe in movies and books

After gathering the wide-eyed group of first-year students, Hagrid greeted Harry with his characteristic warmth before leading us toward the mysterious and imposing Black Lake.

The lake radiated an unsettling, almost haunting aura. Yet, what disturbed me most wasn't its appearance—it was the strange, inexplicable pull I felt toward it. It wasn't rejection, but rather a deep, magnetic attraction. Something within the lake was calling to me, as if whispering secrets known only to the ancient waters.

Activating my magical perception, I surveyed the area carefully. What I discovered sent a chill down my spine. The lake was enveloped in a faint but pervasive energy of death. It wasn't malevolent or harmful—it was perfectly balanced, as if the lake had long grown accustomed to death's presence and had made peace with it.

Then, a memory surfaced.

I recalled an old legend—not one that claimed Viviane was a young beautiful lady, but one that told a tale of love and betrayal. According to the legend, Merlin, the greatest wizard of his time, fell deeply in love with Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. But she betrayed him, sealing him away—not out of evil, but perhaps out of fear or manipulation. There was a divine battle on a lake side, only a tragic story forgotten by time and remember only as the legend 

Having merged souls with Merlin, I couldn't shake the feeling that this lake was tied to that very tale. Was this the same place spoken of in the legends? Did the founders of Hogwarts know this? Had they chosen this site because of the lake's arcane properties? It was plausible. I suspected the lake acted as a natural ward, subtly weakening the magical strength of outsiders—perhaps by 20%—especially those who harbored ill intent. A silent guardian, ever watchful.

As we climbed into boats—four per vessel—I noticed one specific spot across the water where the death energy pulsed more strongly. It tugged at me, like a forgotten truth buried beneath the surface.

I knew I would return to that spot one day.

"Heads down, everyone!" Hagrid called as we approached a tunnel under the cliff.

Only Hagrid needed to duck. The rest of us passed safely as the boats floated silently beneath the stone arch.

Then we emerged—and the sight took our breath away.

Hogwarts Castle loomed before us, grand and awe-inspiring under the starlit sky. Its tall towers pierced the heavens, and the reflection of the moon shimmered on the lake's surface. Gasps of wonder escaped from my fellow first-years.

Upon docking, we disembarked and followed Hagrid to the massive front doors of the castle. He knocked three times, and they opened to reveal Professor McGonagall standing in her usual poised and stern demeanor.

As she stepped forward, Neville's toad sprang across the floor, narrowly missing her foot. She glanced down, expression unreadable, while Neville rushed to scoop it up, blushing in embarrassment.

Professor McGonagall briefly explained the four houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—the House Cup, and the significance of earning and losing points. Then, she told us to wait until she returned to take us into the Great Hall.

Before leaving, she glanced over the group. Her eyes lingered on Harry—understandable, given his fame—but also briefly on me.

Why me? Did she sense something different? Was it my phoenix companion? My unique wand? Or just curiosity? I tried to play it cool.

Just then, a pale blond boy approached us—Draco Malfoy—flanked by two brutish boys.

"So it's true. Harry Potter's come to Hogwarts," he said smugly.

He introduced himself and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, then offered Harry friendship. When Harry declined, Draco's expression twisted into disdain. He mocked the Weasleys and turned to say something to me—but he was cut off.

Professor McGonagall had returned.

She led us into the Great Hall.

The moment we entered, I was overwhelmed by its splendor. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky. Hundreds of floating candles bathed the room in warm light. Four long tables stretched the length of the hall, filled with older students. But my eyes drifted to the staff table.

There sat the professors, each radiating distinct magical auras. Snape's was dark and brooding, Flitwick's bright and fluttery, Sprout's earthy and nurturing. But then my eyes locked on the figure in the center.

Albus Dumbledore.

His magical presence was unlike any other—immense, deep, and ancient. It didn't dominate the room, yet it was impossible to ignore. It felt wise and calm, with a subtle undercurrent of sadness. Our eyes met briefly. I wondered—did he sense what I truly was?

Professor McGonagall stepped forward and explained the Sorting process. We'd be called one at a time to wear the Sorting Hat, which would choose our house.

The hat suddenly sprang to life with a whimsical and insightful song that introduced each house. Applause followed its performance, and the Sorting began.

One by one, students were sorted—Hermione, Ron, Harry, Draco—all into their expected houses. Gryffindor roared with applause when Harry joined. The Weasley twins shouted, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Eventually, only I remained.

"Ashton A.D. Willson," McGonagall called.

I walked forward calmly, every eye fixed on me. As I reached the stool, I subtly pulled my wand from my pocket and cast a silent cleaning charm on the Sorting Hat, disguising the action as a routine gesture.

Gasps echoed. Even McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

She composed herself and placed the hat on my head.

Immediately, a voice whispered into my mind.

"Oh... you're quite the mystery. you are new to me dear but also quite familiar. So many traits—bravery, wit, ambition, loyalty. I could place you anywhere. What do you think, young man?"

I opened my mouth to respond—

"Slytherin!" the hat shouted before I could answer.

I blinked in surprise. I hadn't even chosen.

Scattered applause followed. The room's excitement had faded. Everyone knew my name—and that I was Muggle-born. For Slytherin, that was nearly taboo.

I looked around.

McGonagall watched with tight lips. Hermione and Harry stared at me with sympathy. Dumbledore studied me with unreadable calculation. Snape narrowed his eyes. Quirrell—possessed by Voldemort—faked curiosity. At the Slytherin table, Draco sneered. Daphne Greengrass frowned.

I stood frozen.

Seven years with blood-purity-obsessed classmates? Not every Slytherin was like that, but the culture was toxic, and most would eventually follow.

I sighed inwardly.

Just as I reached up to remove the hat, my hand brushed something inside.

Without thinking, I grabbed it—and pulled.

A collective gasp filled the hall.

In my hand was the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.

I hadn't meant to summon it. I hadn't even known it was there.

But there I stood—newly sorted into Slytherin—holding Gryffindor's legendary sword.

The Great Hall went completely silent.

Dozens of eyes watched me, stunned. Even Dumbledore looked truly surprised.

I didn't move. I just stood there, sword in hand, at the center of the hall.

And I knew—my time at Hogwarts was going to be anything but ordinary.

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