The massive oak doors groaned open with the theatrical flair of a stage curtain, and Hagrid ushered the first-years inside like an enthusiastic shepherd herding particularly bewildered sheep—if sheep wore oversized robes and looked like they might faint from sheer overwhelm at any moment.
The Entrance Hall swallowed them whole—a cavern of shadow and torchlight so impossibly vast it made most of them tilt their heads back until their necks popped audibly. Several students stumbled into each other, gaping upward like tourists seeing their first cathedral.
"Bloody hell," someone whispered, then immediately clapped a hand over their mouth, shooting nervous glances at Hagrid.
"Language, O'Malley," a prim voice chided—probably one of the inevitable prefect-in-training types.
The ceiling soared away into a darkness so deep it could've hidden whole galaxies, and the stone walls were alive with shifting tapestries depicting duels, coronations, and magical disasters that looked a little too eager to repeat themselves if stared at too long. One tapestry showed a wizard being chased by what appeared to be an enormous, very angry chicken. Another depicted a formal dance that kept dissolving into chaos as the painted figures tripped over each other.
"Is that supposed to be inspiring?" Frank Longbottom muttered, pointing at a particularly violent-looking battle scene where tiny embroidered wizards were hexing each other into colorful explosions.
"It's supposed to be educational," Lily Evans replied, though she sounded uncertain. "I think. Maybe it's a warning about what happens if you don't do your homework?"
At the far end, the marble staircase swept upward with architectural swagger, branching like the spine of a great beast into corridors that promised infinite mystery—and even more ways to get hopelessly, embarrassingly lost.
Their footsteps echoed in the reverential hush with the weight of centuries. Even Sirius Black—who normally treated silence like a personal insult—looked like he half-wanted to whisper just to keep from disturbing the ancient solemnity.
"Right then," Hagrid boomed, his voice ricocheting around the stone like a friendly thunderclap that made half the kids jump out of their skins. He gestured toward a side door by the grand stairs—small and unassuming compared to the great double doors that hinted at something far more majestic waiting beyond. "I'll be leavin' you lot here. Professor McGonagall'll be along soon to explain about the Sortin' and all that business."
He paused, beetle-bright eyes twinkling with the kind of suspicious cheer that suggested he knew exactly what was coming and found it deeply entertaining. "Mind yerselves now, don't go wanderin' off. Castle's got more ways to get lost than most people've got ways to get found, and some of 'em lead to places that ain't too friendly to visitors."
Several students shifted nervously. Peter Pettigrew edged closer to the group like he was trying to disappear into the crowd.
"And if a certain troublemaker shows up," Hagrid continued with a grin that was definitely too wide for comfort, "just remember—some residents've been here longer than most, and they don't always remember their manners around new folk. But don't you worry! Most of 'em are harmless. Mostly."
Which, coming from a man who wrestled baby dragons for recreational purposes, was not exactly the most comforting send-off in the world.
With a wave so cheerful it was practically radioactive, Hagrid ducked through the side door with surprising grace for someone his size, leaving thirty-two first-years standing in the echoing silence like abandoned orphans.
Thirty-two first-years. One impossibly grand hall. Infinite collective nerves.
The silence stretched for exactly three heartbeats before James Potter broke it with the kind of dramatic flourish that made it crystal clear he thought the entire world was his personal stage and everyone else was just supporting cast.
"Well," he announced, spreading his arms like he was addressing a theater full of admirers, "this is delightfully cozy. Just us, a castle that's probably older than recorded history, and some mysterious menace Hagrid conveniently forgot to specify. Very calming atmosphere. Really sets the tone for a peaceful educational experience."
"Calming?" Frank repeated, running both hands through his already disheveled hair like someone who was rapidly regretting every single decision that had led him to this exact moment in time. "You sound like you're actively auditioning to be the first one eaten by whatever's lurking in here."
"Oh, please," Sirius interjected with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that suggested he'd never met a dangerous situation he didn't want to befriend. He was practically bouncing on his toes, dark hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. "That's because trouble is infinitely more interesting than safety. And interesting is the natural enemy of boredom, which is the real killer. I'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail than die of terminal tedium in some dusty classroom."
"Newsflash, Black," Remus Lupin said dryly, leaning against the stone wall with the weary grace of someone already mentally resigned to spending the next seven years cleaning up after complete idiots. "Dragons have a tendency to eat overconfident eleven-year-olds considerably faster than boredom does. Also more messily."
"Those would make excellent famous last words," Severus Snape muttered from the shadows where he'd naturally gravitated, arms folded defensively across his chest, voice soaked in enough doom and gloom to dampen a bonfire. "The universe has a well-documented preference for overconfident children. They're basically walking snacks with delusions of grandeur."
"Snape's right," Alice Fortescue piped up, twisting her fingers nervously. "What if this is some kind of test? What if they're watching to see how we handle being abandoned in a potentially haunted castle?"
"If it's a test, we're already failing," Edward Smith added helpfully. "Pretty sure 'stand around making jokes' isn't the recommended survival strategy."
From her strategic position beneath one of the flickering torches—where the firelight turned her auburn hair into something that belonged in a Pre-Raphaelite painting—Natalia Evans arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow with surgical precision.
"Thirty-two nervous children crammed into one room with zero adult supervision, a half-giant's ominous warning about unnamed troublemakers, and a headmaster who apparently thinks leaving first-years to fend for themselves builds character," she recited with the detached tone of someone calculating odds at a dragon race. "Statistically speaking, disaster isn't just probable—it's mathematically inevitable. I give us maybe five minutes before the screaming starts. Seven if we're unusually lucky."
Hadrian Potter, who had been lounging with his hands tucked casually in his pockets like he personally owned half the castle despite technically being eleven years old and still half-drowning in regulation robes, flashed that trademark smile—the kind that suggested he not only had backup plans but also had taken out insurance policies on his backup plans.
"Please," he drawled, silver eyes sparkling with amusement. "We're first-years at a school for magic. The absolute most dramatic thing that's realistically going to happen is someone tripping spectacularly over their own robes and taking half the group down in a domino effect of pure slapstick comedy. If we're genuinely lucky, it'll be choreographed enough to be entertaining."
"You'd say that," Natalia shot back, her tone sweet as honey and approximately twice as dangerous, "because you are statistically the most likely candidate to be that someone. Probably while smirking at your own reflection in a suit of armor."
The entire group ooohed like a Greek chorus witnessing a particularly savage burn. Sirius actually started clapping slowly, grinning like Christmas had come early.
Hadrian pressed a hand to his chest in theatrical injury, looking wounded to his very soul. "Natalia, your faith in my coordination is truly inspiring. Here I was thinking I'd be remembered as the devastatingly handsome, witty hero of our year group, but apparently I'm destined to be Hogwarts' first major slapstick casualty. My reputation is already in ruins and I haven't even been sorted yet."
"Your reputation was doomed the moment you opened your mouth," she replied sweetly. "Some people are born for greatness. Others are born to be cautionary tales. Guess which category you fall into."
"Savage," James breathed admiringly. "Absolutely savage. I respect that level of verbal cruelty."
"Don't encourage her," Remus warned. "She's terrifying enough without positive reinforcement."
"I like terrifying," Bellatrix Black announced from where she'd been silently observing the chaos with obvious delight, her dark eyes glittering with the kind of anticipation that suggested she was hoping for actual bloodshed. "Terrifying means interesting. And interesting means this place might actually be worth the hype."
"Everything's worth the hype when you're hoping someone gets hexed," Andromeda commented dryly, shooting her sister a look. "Some of us would prefer to survive our first day."
"Survival is overrated," Bella replied cheerfully. "Where's the fun in playing it safe?"
"You're assuming," Lily cut in, her voice sharp with wit and her green eyes sparkling with just enough mischief to prove she was thoroughly enjoying the verbal warfare, "that Hogwarts hasn't already claimed multiple lives through sheer architectural spite. I heard the castle literally eats people. Like, physically consumes them. There was allegedly a student in 1703 who just vanished entirely. No remains, no witnesses, just gone."
"That's not actually true," Peter blurted nervously, his voice climbing several octaves as he edged closer to Remus like proximity to reason might ward off impending doom. "Right? Please tell me that's not true. I don't want to be digested by a building."
"Of course it's not true," Narcissa Black said with the kind of regal disdain that suggested the very idea of being concerned about castle-related cannibalism was beneath her aristocratic notice. She examined her perfectly manicured nails like the fate of lesser mortals was a tedious inconvenience. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Right," Andromeda added with silky sarcasm, "and the Giant Squid doesn't snack on first-years either. Why don't you test that theory with a nice moonlit swim in the lake, Pettigrew?"
Peter made a strangled noise that might have been protest.
"Do not encourage the squid," Narcissa commanded with the tone of someone used to being obeyed without question. "It has absolutely dreadful taste in dining companions."
"That would explain Sirius," Hadrian deadpanned without missing a beat.
The hall exploded in laughter that echoed off the ancient stones. Sirius clutched his chest like he'd been mortally wounded, James cackled so hard he nearly toppled over, and even Severus snorted before catching himself and resuming his perpetual scowl.
"Bold words," Sirius shot back once he'd recovered, gray eyes dancing with mirth, "coming from someone who presumably thinks his own reflection is adequate company for dinner conversation. At least the squid has tentacles. What's your excuse for being interesting?"
"Charm, devastating wit, and bone structure that could probably cut glass," Hadrian listed smoothly, ticking items off on his fingers like he was reciting a grocery list. "Plus the remarkable ability to walk into any room and immediately improve everyone else's day by a solid fifty percent minimum."
"Fifty percent?" Natalia scoffed, tossing her hair so the torchlight caught it at exactly the right angle—a move that was definitely practiced. "Try negative twenty. You're like economic inflation in human form, Potter. The more you talk, the less intellectual value the rest of us retain."
The group howled again, and even Lily was shaking her head with a reluctant smile.
"Merlin help us all," Frank muttered, looking genuinely pained. "We haven't even been properly sorted yet and I can already feel detention looming over us like a storm cloud. We're going to be legendary for all the wrong reasons."
"Detention?" Hadrian tilted his head, lips quirking in what could generously be called a smile and more accurately be called a warning sign. "Frank, my optimistic friend, you're thinking far too small. This is the beginning of a genuine legacy. By the time we graduate from this place, 'detention' will be practically synonymous with our names."
"Yeah," Remus sighed with the resignation of someone who could see the writing on the wall and didn't much like what it said. "And 'expulsion' will probably be our yearbook quote."
"Don't look so glum," Bellatrix chimed in from the shadows, her voice like velvet soaked in gasoline, eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. "I'm personally counting down the minutes until something spectacular explodes. Preferably one of you. The anticipation is absolutely delicious."
"Explosions are completely overrated," Pandora Lovegood mused dreamily from somewhere in the middle of the group, twirling a strand of dirty blonde hair around her finger. "Unless they're metaphorical, of course. You know, like emotional implosions caused by public humiliation and social shame. Those can be quite entertaining to observe."
"Please," Natalia said with silky smoothness, "Hadrian's very existence is already a walking emotional implosion waiting to happen. We don't need to manufacture additional drama."
"I prefer to think of myself," Hadrian replied, utterly unfazed by the character assassination, "as a controlled demolition. Carefully planned, precisely timed, and extremely satisfying to watch unfold."
"Key word being demolition," Severus muttered, voice dripping with prophetic dread.
"Key word being satisfying," Lily countered, flashing Hadrian the kind of smile that promised either alliance or destruction—possibly both.
As if the universe had been eavesdropping on their conversation and decided to demonstrate its impeccable sense of dramatic timing, the Entrance Hall suddenly echoed with a sound that made all thirty-two first-years freeze like rabbits caught in wandlight.
Rattle. Clank. Whooooooooo.
It wasn't wind. It definitely wasn't the sound of old stone settling. It was the deliberate noise of something that very much wanted to be heard, and wanted to be heard right now.
"Um," Marlene McKinnon squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What was that exactly?"
"Probably just the castle settling," Lily began hopefully, only to be immediately cut off by—
CRASH.
The sound of something large, metallic, and expensive hitting marble with tremendous force, followed immediately by the kind of cackling that belonged in nightmares. Maniacal, echoing, raise-every-hair-on-your-neck cackling that bounced around the stone chamber like it had been professionally rehearsed for maximum psychological impact.
Peter made a sound that was probably supposed to be words but came out as a high-pitched wheeze.
Alice's voice wobbled with aggressively forced cheer. "That was... definitely not architecture."
A full suit of armor at the far end of the hall suddenly jerked upright like a marionette yanked by invisible strings. It staggered forward in a grotesque parody of a bow, then promptly decapitated itself with a flourish—the helmet clattering to the floor with enough noise to wake half the portraits in the castle.
Several students shrieked. Narcissa looked personally offended by the breach of decorum.
"OHHHHHHHHHH!" boomed a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, absolutely dripping with malicious delight. "FRESH FIRST-YEARS! Tiny little lambs ready for the slaughter! Oh, oh, oh, Peeves has been WAITING for this moment all summer long!"
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose like a boy three times his age dealing with a chronic migraine. "Poltergeist," he said flatly. "Peeves. School's resident poltergeist. Infamous for being an absolute menace to civilized society."
"What kind of menace?" Peter's voice cracked like breaking glass. "Please tell me you mean harmless pranks and not actual bodily harm."
"Define harmless," Severus replied with the tone of someone who had clearly done his research and found it deeply disturbing.
The torches lining the walls went out in one dramatic whoosh, plunging them into near-complete darkness broken only by thin streams of moonlight filtering through the high windows.
"WELCOME TO HOGWARTS!" Peeves shrieked with gleeful malice, his voice echoing from every direction at once. "YOUR FIRST LESSON IS SURVIVAL! Let's see how long you last!"
Something wet, slimy, and probably unspeakable splattered against the stone wall mere inches from Narcissa's perfectly coiffed head. She screamed—high, sharp, and genuinely outraged—jerking away from the impact and holding her pristine robes away from her body like they'd been contaminated with dragon pox.
"My ROBES!" she shrieked with the passion of someone whose entire worldview had just been personally violated. "Do you have any idea what these cost? This is Italian silk!"
"Oooooh, fancy robes!" Peeves howled with sadistic glee, materializing briefly as a wild-haired figure in motley before vanishing again. "EVEN BETTER TARGETS! The expensive ones stain so beautifully!"
And with another cackle that could have shattered glass, he began raining down projectiles that were quite frankly best left unidentified.
The hall dissolved into absolute chaos—shrieks, frantic scrambling, and the unmistakable sound of various substances that definitely didn't belong in a respectable educational institution hitting stone, robes, and occasionally students.
"This school is completely insane!" James shouted over the mayhem, diving sideways to avoid something green and sticky that left a smoking crater where it hit. "At Durmstrang they don't let poltergeists assault the incoming class!"
"It's exactly the right kind of insane!" Bellatrix yelled back, laughing maniacally as she dodged projectiles with disturbing grace, clearly having the time of her young life. "This is brilliant! So much better than some boring welcome speech about tradition and responsibility!"
"I happen to like boring speeches!" Peter cried from where he'd curled into a defensive ball against the wall. "Boring speeches don't leave permanent stains!"
"COWARDS ARE THE MOST ENTERTAINING SPORT!" Peeves screamed with malicious glee from somewhere overhead. "DANCE, LITTLE MICE! DANCE FOR PEEVES!"
More suits of armor clanked into jerky motion, careening around like drunken soldiers. The entrance hall had transformed into a genuine war zone, with first-years crashing into each other in blind panic, slipping and sliding on Peeves' technicolor artillery.
"There has to be something we can do!" Amelia Bones shouted, trying to shield Emma Vanity from a particularly aggressive volley. "We can't just stand here and get pelted!"
"Like what?" Edward called back, his voice muffled because he was trying to breathe through his sleeve. "We're eleven! None of us know any actual defensive spells!"
"Speak for yourself!" Bellatrix laughed, pulling out her wand. "I know plenty of—"
"DO NOT hex the poltergeist on your first day!" Andromeda interrupted, tackling her sister before she could do something that would probably get them all expelled. "We haven't even been sorted yet!"
Through the chaos and cacophony, Hadrian Potter stepped forward. Not scrambling, not panicking, not diving for cover. Just... forward. Calm. Controlled. His silver eyes caught the scattered moonlight streaming through the windows, sharp and calculating, and when he spoke, his voice cut through the mayhem with the kind of casual authority that made people instinctively stop what they were doing and listen.
"Natalia," he said evenly, like he was commenting on the weather instead of addressing a supernatural assault. "Seven o'clock, moving toward the main staircase. Using the chandelier for cover and probably the suits of armor as distraction."
"Confirmed," Natalia's voice sliced through the chaos like a blade, her posture loose and calculating despite the fact that she was actively dodging what appeared to be spoiled fruit. Her auburn hair had come slightly loose from its perfect arrangement, but she looked more annoyed than afraid. "Predictable pattern. Overconfident. Standard intimidation-through-chaos protocol. Amateur hour, really."
Remus blinked at them from where he was doing his best to shield Peter from the worst of the barrage. "You two... actually have a plan for this?"
"We don't need a plan," Natalia replied, her tone like silk wrapped around steel. "We have strategy. And basic pattern recognition."
"STRATEGY WON'T SAVE YOU FROM PEEVES!" the poltergeist shrieked, his voice now closer, jittering between octaves like a broken radio. "PEEVES IS INEVITABLE! PEEVES IS ETERNAL! PEEVES IS—"
"Peeves!" Hadrian's voice rang out, clear and cutting through the cacophony like a sword through silk. The sheer audacity of someone actually addressing their tormentor directly made everyone—living and otherwise—pause. "Excellent dramatic entrance. Truly impressive. Very theatrical. But this?" He gestured casually at the chaos surrounding them, as if poltergeist attacks were a minor inconvenience he dealt with regularly. "This is your opening performance? Buckets and rotting produce? I've seen baby trolls create more compelling chaos."
The silence that followed was so complete you could have heard a pin drop in the next castle over.
Every single first-year froze in place, staring at Hadrian like he'd just casually announced his intention to wrestle a dragon.
"WHAT," Peeves' voice came out strangled, climbing several octaves in outrage, "DID YOU JUST SAY?"
Hadrian's smile was slow, wicked, and absolutely fearless—the kind of expression that could either get someone kissed or murdered, depending entirely on the audience. "I said this is... basic. Entry-level haunting. Very Dark Ages poltergeist work. Honestly, I was expecting something more... innovative. More creative. Unless, of course, the legendary Peeves is past his prime and this is genuinely the best he can manage these days."
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Oh, sweet Merlin," Frank whispered, his voice barely audible. "He's actually taunting the homicidal poltergeist. We're all going to die. We're going to die on our first day and they'll write embarrassing things about us in the history books."
Natalia stepped forward, her voice honey-sweet and twice as poisonous. "He's not wrong, though. Throwing spoiled food at eleven-year-olds? That's not artistry, that's just a tantrum. Real chaos takes vision. Style. A certain... je ne sais quoi. This is just loud."
"VISION?" Peeves sputtered, flashing back into visibility as a wild-haired jester in motley, his bells chiming discordantly as he spun in agitated circles. His painted face was twisted in genuine outrage. "PEEVES IS THE PATRON SAINT OF CHAOS! PEEVES IS AN ARTIST!"
"And yet..." Hadrian let the words hang in the air, soft and deliberate, that insufferable smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're recycling material from centuries past. Where's the innovation? The creative flair? The personal touch that separates the masters from the amateurs?"
The collective gasp from the first-years was audible. Several students had their hands pressed to their mouths like they were watching someone commit suicide in real time.
James whispered, awestruck, "He's either the bravest person I've ever met... or the most suicidal."
"Why not both?" Sirius whispered back, grinning like he'd just discovered fire. "Definitely both."
Peeves' colors flickered furiously, cycling through the spectrum like a broken rainbow. "OLD MATERIAL? OLD MATERIAL?!"
"Don't misunderstand us," Natalia added with deadly sweetness, her eyes like sharpened emeralds in the moonlight. "You've clearly got raw talent. Natural ability. But right now? You're giving us amateur dramatics. Slapstick without purpose. Noise without meaning. It's very... pedestrian."
Hadrian leaned casually against the nearest stone column, perfectly relaxed in the middle of what had been a supernatural assault just moments before. "But if you'd like to prove us wrong..." He gestured at the chaos-decorated hall with theatrical flourish. "We're listening. Show us what the great Peeves can really do when he puts his mind to it."
For a heartbeat that lasted approximately seventeen years, there was complete silence. Then Peeves let out a wild, delighted shriek that made the very stones ring, spinning aerial loops that defied several laws of physics.
"OH, I LIKE YOU TWO!" he cackled, his voice now filled with something that might have been approval if it hadn't been coming from a centuries-old agent of chaos. "Cocky little darlings with spines of steel! Brave or stupid, doesn't matter to Peeves—PEEVES APPROVES!"
He zoomed upward toward the enchanted ceiling, his bells creating a symphony of discord. "But mark my words, you cheeky little monsters! You haven't seen ANYTHING yet! Next time—oh, next time Peeves will give you chaos worthy of LEGEND! This was just the warm-up!"
With a final laugh that could have woken the dead and probably had, he vanished entirely, leaving only the faint scent of sulfur and the echo of maniacal glee.
The torches blazed back to life as if nothing had happened, revealing a hall that looked like a Jackson Pollock painting had gotten into a fight with a food market and lost spectacularly.
The silence that followed was thick with awe, terror, and no small amount of admiration.
"Well," James said finally, wiping what appeared to be purple slime off his shoulder with his sleeve, "that was either the stupidest or the most brilliant thing I've ever witnessed in my entire life. Quite possibly both simultaneously."
"Definitely both," Sirius confirmed immediately, still grinning like someone had just given him the best present ever. "Absolutely, unquestionably both."
"How did you know that would actually work?" Amelia asked, staring at Hadrian and Natalia like they'd just performed wandless magic. Her voice was filled with something suspiciously close to hero worship.
"Poltergeists are performers," Hadrian explained smoothly, brushing what looked like glittery pond scum off his sleeve with the casual air of someone discussing the weather. "They thrive on reaction and attention. Undermine their artistic ego, and they'll either storm off in a huff or try desperately to impress you with something better. Either outcome solves the immediate problem."
"Insulting supernatural entities as a survival strategy," Remus mused, his tone caught between wonder and horror. "That's... disturbingly effective. Also probably not recommended for general use."
Natalia examined her nails like she hadn't just verbally demolished a centuries-old poltergeist. "Vanity is the most universally exploitable weakness in existence. I make it a policy to collect them for future reference."
"Good to know," Frank said carefully, eyeing her with new wariness. "Terrifying information to possess, but good to know for self-preservation purposes."
"Oh, you're already firmly established on my list of future targets," Natalia replied with honeyed sweetness. "It's really just a matter of efficiency and proper time management at this point."
Alice snorted, shaking her head. "Remind me again why any of us thought coming to a school where poltergeists attack the new students was a good idea?"
"Because," Bellatrix announced, throwing her head back and laughing with wild delight, "Hogwarts is absolutely glorious! This place has character! Personality! I already can't wait to see what Peeves comes up with for his encore performance!"
"That's because you're unhinged," Andromeda muttered, but there was fondness in her voice. "Some of us would prefer to survive our education with our dignity intact."
"Dignity is overrated," Bella shot back cheerfully. "Where's the fun in playing it safe? Besides, Potter and Evans just proved that brains beat brawn when it comes to dealing with supernatural harassment."
"Don't give them too much credit," Severus said darkly. "We haven't actually gotten rid of him permanently. He's probably planning something ten times worse for next time."
"Looking forward to it," Hadrian said with that insufferable confidence, which earned him several looks of disbelief.
The sound of approaching footsteps cut through the post-chaos chatter like a blade through silk. These weren't hurried steps—they were calm, measured, deliberate. The kind of footsteps that belonged to someone who had never hurried anywhere in their life because the world naturally arranged itself around their schedule.
The side door creaked open with the grace of inevitability, and Professor McGonagall entered. She didn't walk so much as arrive, her posture perfect, her tartan robes immaculate, her sharp features set in the kind of expression that could probably silence an army mid-battle. Even in a hall still faintly reeking of Peeves' creative vandalism, she looked as though chaos itself wouldn't dare come within a foot of her.
Every student shuffled into something that vaguely resembled order—robes straightened, hands tucked neatly by sides, guilty expressions wiped hastily from faces.
McGonagall's hawk-like gaze swept over the group, cataloguing in an instant the dishevelled robes, the faint scorch marks, the poltergeist-induced glitter still clinging to James' hair, and the faint smell of singed dignity hanging in the air.
"I see," she said crisply, her Scottish accent slicing through the hall, "that you've already made the acquaintance of one of Hogwarts'… livelier residents."
A nervous chorus of *"Yes, Professor"* rippled through the group.
Her lips twitched—barely. Enough to betray either amusement or deep, weary resignation.
"And how," she continued, one eyebrow arching with surgical precision, "did you find the experience?"
"Educational," Hadrian answered immediately, stepping forward with a calm self-assurance that stood out starkly against the fidgeting herd of eleven-year-olds. His silver eyes met hers without flinching, his tone the perfect blend of polite and cheeky. "A very thorough demonstration of Hogwarts'… unique sense of humor when it comes to hospitality."
Several students smothered giggles. Sirius muttered, "Bloke sounds like he's narrating a play," earning himself an elbow from Remus.
"Indeed," McGonagall said, voice flat—but a trace of something warmer lingered there. Approval, perhaps. Maybe even pride. Her gaze sharpened. "Mr. Potter, I presume?"
"Yes, Professor. Hadrian Potter."
There was a pause. Brief, but heavy enough to be noticed. Something softened in her expression—quick as lightning, gone just as fast, like a memory sliding behind a mask.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," she said, and though her tone retained every ounce of professional authority, there was unmistakable warmth beneath it. "I trust you'll find your time here… educational in all the ways that matter."
The weight of those words made a few heads swivel toward him. James raised an eyebrow. Lily's sharp green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Natalia smirked like she knew exactly what kind of subtext was happening and was already drafting a savage comment about it.
Hadrian, however, inclined his head with the kind of smooth confidence that made it look like he'd been born for moments like this. "With respect, Professor, I suspect the castle's already decided I will. Hogwarts doesn't strike me as the type to waste time on half-measures."
That earned him a ripple of suppressed laughter. James whispered, "Merlin's beard, he even sasses professors with manners."
Natalia, flipping her auburn hair so the torchlight hit it just right, cut in before McGonagall could reply. "Yes, very impressive, Potter. If you bow any lower, you'll crack the marble with your forehead. Try to leave some charm for the rest of us—we can't all live off mysterious family legacies and cheekbones sharp enough to wound people."
The group *oohed*.
Hadrian didn't miss a beat. His smile turned slow, wickedly amused. "Jealousy's a very ugly color on you, Natalia. Though, to be fair, it's still not half as distracting as that glitter Peeves blessed James with."
James immediately began swatting at his hair in horror. "Wait—*what glitter*?"
"All of it," Sirius supplied gleefully. "You look like a festive pixie who lost a bar fight."
Lily rolled her eyes. "Honestly. We're about to meet the most important people in this castle and you lot are turning it into a circus."
"Correction," Natalia said smoothly. "They're turning it into a circus. I, on the other hand, am simply providing high-quality commentary on the downfall of their dignity."
McGonagall's eyebrow climbed higher, if that was even possible. "Miss Evans, is it?"
"Yes, Professor," Natalia answered sweetly, batting her lashes in faux innocence.
"I shall look forward to observing whether your tongue proves as quick in the classroom as it is in the corridor."
Natalia's smile widened like a cat who'd just been invited to the creamery. "Oh, Professor, I promise it's even sharper when essays are involved."
Sirius whispered, "I like her."
Remus muttered, "Of course you do. She's terrifying."
Bellatrix, who had been leaning casually against the wall with her arms crossed, finally spoke up. "All this chatter and still no mention of the *actual* problem. We're standing in the middle of a castle full of magic, and we're waiting to be judged by a hat. And none of you seem remotely concerned that the hat might put you in the wrong place for the rest of your lives."
"Thanks, Bella," Andromeda said dryly. "Way to bring down the mood."
"I'm just saying," Bella continued, her dark eyes flashing with excitement, "what if it sorts you with people you despise? What if you end up in the dungeon with the dregs? Or worse—the library dwellers?"
"Oi!" Severus snapped, bristling.
Hadrian clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Sev. If the hat does stick you in the library, at least you'll finally have someone to talk to who won't interrupt you with their own ego."
That earned him another round of laughter, and even Severus, after a long glare, let the corner of his mouth twitch.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and the effect was immediate. The thirty-two first-years fell silent as though she'd just cast a silencing charm on the entire group. Her presence filled the hall—tall, composed, sharp-eyed, tartan robes swirling with that Cate Blanchett gravitas that made even stone pillars look like they were standing straighter.
"Now then," she began, her Scottish vowels crisp enough to cut glass, "before we proceed to the Sorting Ceremony, there are several important matters to be addressed."
Sirius leaned sideways toward James, stage-whispering, "Translation: stop acting like feral kneazles and try to look presentable before the adults judge us."
"Too late," Natalia muttered, flicking her auburn hair so the torchlight made it gleam. "You three already look like the cautionary tale version of wizarding youth."
"Ouch," James grinned, undeterred. "Already cutting deep and we haven't even been sorted. Respect."
"First," McGonagall continued, ignoring—or perhaps deliberately pretending not to hear—the commentary, "the Sorting Ceremony is not merely tradition. It is the single most important moment of your Hogwarts career."
She paused, letting that gravity settle. Most of the kids straightened. Some fidgeted. Peter tried not to look like he was sweating. Bellatrix smirked like someone had just handed her a wand and dared her to cause trouble.
"Your House," McGonagall went on, "will be your family. You will eat together, study together, triumph together, and yes—" her eyes flicked briefly toward Sirius, James, and Hadrian, "—face the consequences of mischief together."
Remus groaned under his breath. "She already knows. We haven't even done anything yet and she already knows."
Hadrian's silver eyes sparkled with amusement as he said, just loud enough, "I think she meant that part as foreshadowing."
That drew a ripple of laughter, quickly smothered when McGonagall's gaze cut across them like a guillotine.
"Each House," she continued smoothly, "has its own noble history. Gryffindor values courage and determination. Hufflepuff prizes loyalty and fair play. Ravenclaw celebrates wit and wisdom. Slytherin honors ambition and resourcefulness."
Narcissa lifted her chin at the mention of Slytherin, like a queen acknowledging her throne. Andromeda rolled her eyes at her sister's theatrics.
"You will notice," McGonagall pressed on, "that I did not say any House was superior. Each has produced witches and wizards of extraordinary accomplishment and honor. The Hat sorts you where your values will best be sharpened into strength."
"Or," Natalia said brightly, "where you'll be trapped with people you can't stand for the next seven years. Which, if you think about it, is very on-brand for education systems."
The group snorted. McGonagall's eyebrow arched in silent challenge.
Hadrian smiled, lazy and sharp. "Don't worry, Professor. Natalia just likes to audition for the role of *Most Savage Person Alive* whenever she sees an audience."
"Better than auditioning for *Charming But Infuriating*," she shot back.
James whistled low. "You two should just get married and spare us the verbal foreplay."
Lily's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Or we could *not* encourage bad ideas from boys who still sparkle like a disco ball."
James froze. "Wait, *still*?" He frantically rubbed at his hair, dislodging another faint puff of Peeves' glitter. Sirius doubled over laughing.
"At the end of the year," McGonagall continued firmly, letting the laughter burn itself out, "the House with the most points will win the House Cup. It is not an individual victory, but the triumph of collective excellence."
Bella scoffed. "So basically, we're all responsible for each other's stupidity? Delightful."
Alice crossed her arms. "Or we could call it teamwork, but sure, let's go with your brand of cynicism."
Frank nodded. "I vote teamwork."
Bella smirked. "Of course you do. You look like the poster boy for loyalty."
Frank blinked. "...Thanks?"
Hadrian clapped him on the back. "Take it as a compliment, Frank. Bella's burn quota has to hit someone."
McGonagall stepped forward to the massive double doors. Her hand touched the handle, her expression softening almost imperceptibly as she glanced at Hadrian. "Trust the Hat's wisdom. Embrace your placement with pride. Tonight, you join a legacy that stretches back a thousand years."
And with a push, the doors swung open—revealing the Great Hall in all its impossible glory.
Gasps rippled through the group. Four long tables glittered with golden plates and goblets. Hundreds of floating candles bathed the hall in warm light. Above, the ceiling was a perfect mirror of the night sky, constellations wheeling in infinite majesty.
"Whoa," Peter whispered. "It's like… space. But inside."
"That's the point, genius," Natalia muttered.
"It's enchanted," Lily explained patiently, though her own awe softened the sharp edge of her tone. "A spell to reflect the actual sky above the castle. It's brilliant work, centuries old."
Sirius elbowed James. "Ten galleons says she's in Ravenclaw."
"Double it if she hexes you before the night's over," James shot back.
Hadrian, smirking, murmured just loud enough: "You're both going to be broke before we even get sorted."
At the far end of the hall, the ancient stool and Sorting Hat waited. The Hat looked ragged, threadbare, but radiated presence. The first-years instinctively slowed, the reality of their fate settling over them.
"Welcome," McGonagall said, her voice carrying effortlessly across the vast space. "To Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your new life begins now."
The group filed forward, united for what might be the last time before the Hat split them apart. Some wide-eyed, some grinning, some already plotting.
Hadrian tilted his head toward Natalia, his grin infuriatingly calm. "Ready to have your destiny decided by a talking hat?"
She smirked back, savage and sure. "I was born ready. Hope the Hat brought sunscreen—it's about to get burned."
---
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