Chapter 2: The Sorting Ceremony
The Black Lake's air was sharp and cold, thick with the scent of pine needles and damp, loamy earth. Its glassy surface reflected Hogwarts Castle, a towering silhouette of spires and glowing windows that shimmered like scattered jewels against the moonlit sky. Alex stood on the pebbled shore, his worn shoes sinking slightly into the mud, the chill seeping through the thin soles. He, Harry, and Ron squeezed into a rickety wooden boat, its planks creaking under their weight. The gentle slap-slap of water against the hull mingled with Hagrid's distant, booming barks, a sensory anchor in the overwhelming moment. "This is it. The world I've dreamed of. No going back."
The boat glided forward, propelled by an invisible force that sent ripples fanning across the lake. Alex leaned over the side, trailing his fingers in the icy water, the cold biting his skin like a warning. The castle grew larger, its Gothic details sharpening—stone gargoyles, arched windows, and turrets that seemed to pierce the stars. Harry's awestruck silence mirrored Alex's own wonder, a shared moment of two orphans finding something greater than their pasts. Alex's chest tightened, not from fear but from the weight of possibility. "This place could be home. If I play it right."
To test the environment, Alex activated his system subtly, his hand still in the water to mask the action. He focused on the lake, willing the Artificer's Enigma to scan its properties.
[Artificer's Enigma: Analysis Engaged (Lvl 1)]
AE: 49/50
Item: Black Lake Water
Properties: Mild magical conductivity. Ambient Aetheric saturation: 0.5 units/l. Low-grade mana reservoir.
The faint drain of AE was a small price for the data. The lake was a magical resource, its conductivity a potential asset for future crafting. He shook water from his hand, the droplets catching the moonlight as they fell, a mundane gesture to hide his system use. The cold lingered on his fingers, grounding him in the moment.
"It's… unreal," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible over the lapping water.
Alex nodded, letting a sliver of vulnerability slip through. "I grew up in an orphanage. Grey walls, grey food, grey everything. Never saw anything like this. This place… it's the first thing that feels like it could be mine." His throat tightened, the honesty raw, drawn from years of surviving on scraps and cunning.
Harry turned, his green eyes soft with understanding. "Yeah. The Dursleys' place was big, but it wasn't home. This feels… possible."
Ron stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the castle, but the shared silence wove them closer, a fragile thread of mutual longing. As the boats glided under the boathouse arch, Alex caught a glimpse of the professors waiting on the steps. Quirrell's purple turban stood out like a warning flare, its odd bulk confirming the threat. "He's here. The real game starts now."
They disembarked, the pebbles crunching underfoot as they climbed cold, slick stone steps into a musty side chamber. The air was heavy with the scent of ancient stone and the nervous sweat of thirty first-years. McGonagall's stern lecture on the Sorting Ceremony echoed off the walls, but Alex barely heard it, his mind wrestling with his strategy: Slytherin for its cunning and dungeon access, or Gryffindor for the safety of friends. His fingers tapped the handle of his suitcase, a nervous tic that betrayed his calm facade.
The Great Hall was a revelation, its starry ceiling a dazzling mirror of the night sky, the floating candles casting a warm, golden glow. The hum of hundreds of voices filled the space, mingling with the clink of goblets and the rustle of robes. Alex's breath caught, the sheer scale of the magic overwhelming. The Sorting began swiftly, the Hat's voice booming across the hall.
"Granger, Hermione!" She marched to the stool, her posture rigid. The Hat barely touched her head before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!" Her prim smile vanished into the cheering red table.
"Malfoy, Draco!" He strutted forward, his smirk insufferable. The Hat barely settled before roaring, "SLYTHERIN!" The green table's cold, measured applause sent a shiver down Alex's spine, a reminder of the house's reputation.
"Sterling, Alex!" His name echoed, and he walked forward, his heart pounding like a drum. The stool was hard under him, the Hat's heavy leather smelling of dust and age as it dropped over his eyes, plunging him into darkness. A cold, dry voice slithered into his mind.
"A soul displaced, carrying knowledge from another world. Ambition burns in you, fierce and unyielding, but so does loyalty—a protector's heart. You seek the shadows to shield your chosen few. Slytherin's cunning suits your plans to rewrite fate."
"Slytherin. I need the tools, the secrecy, to protect them," Alex thought, projecting his intent with desperate clarity.
"A bold choice. Your drive to defy destiny, to manipulate the threads of fate—that's pure Slytherin. But beware, boy. Great potential comes with great risk." The Hat's voice sharpened, almost probing the edges of his system. "SLYTHERIN!"
A smattering of polite, icy applause greeted him as he slid off the stool, his face a mask of neutrality. He sat at the green table, avoiding Draco's smug gaze, the weight of isolation settling in.
[Skill Level Up!]
[Analysis] has reached Lvl 2.]
[AE Pool Increased! New Max AE: 75]
The system's reward buzzed in his mind, a sharp validation of his sacrifice. Harry's turn came next, his face pale as he sat under the Hat. The pause was agonizing, Harry's lips moving in a silent plea: not Slytherin. When the Hat roared, "GRYFFINDOR!" the red table erupted, Ron and Hermione pulling Harry into their fold. Alex sipped pumpkin juice, its cloying sweetness masking the pang of loneliness. "This is the price. I'm alone, but I'm where I need to be." The Hat's cryptic "great potential" lingered, a warning that his secret wasn't entirely his own.
The feast materialized with a flash, filling the air with the rich scents of roast beef, buttery potatoes, and sticky treacle tart. The Great Hall hummed with magic, a power conduit that topped his AE instantly.
AE: 75/75
Dumbledore rose, his twinkling eyes and eccentric speech—"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"—captivating the hall. The distraction was perfect. Alex locked onto Quirrell, the professor's nervous fidgeting at odds with the turban's ominous weight. He channeled a risky scan, pouring AE into piercing the concealment charm.
[Artificer's Enigma: Analysis Engaged (Lvl 2)]
AE: 60/75 Cost: 15 AE (High-Risk Scan)
[WARNING: Anomalous magic detected. Extreme Dark Magic Signature.]
[CS increased by 10%! Cognitive Strain: 15%]
A wave of nausea slammed into him, his vision swimming as a burning pressure spiked behind his eyes. He gripped his fork, the cold metal anchoring him as he feigned interest in his plate, the rich smells masking his discomfort. The data confirmed Voldemort's presence, but the CS spike was a brutal reminder of the system's limits. Quirrell's turban hid a monster, and Alex had just poked it.
He looked across the hall, catching Harry's eye. He raised his glass in a subtle salute, a silent promise of alliance. Harry and Ron grinned back, their acceptance a lifeline across the house divide. Snape's glare at Harry, sharp and unyielding, caught Alex's attention—a distraction from the true threat in Quirrell. He flexed his jaw, a small gesture to ease the CS ache, the tension lingering like a bruise.
The feast ended, and Alex followed the Slytherin Prefect into the dungeons, the air growing damp and heavy with the scent of salt and stone. He rubbed his temples, the CS ache a dull throb. Classes loomed, and with them, the chance to test his system further—and to face the enemies he'd already made.
Mechanics Recap: [Analysis] at Lvl 2; CS at 15%; AE at 60/75.
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