September 1st, 1989.
Albus Dumbledore sat at the high table of the Great Hall, his blue eyes sweeping over the sea of students already assembled.
candles overhead flickered along the length of the enchanted ceiling, where stormclouds drifted lazily, betraying the autumn rain falling on the castle grounds outside.
The returning students had settled quickly, second-years through seventh-years already grouped beneath their house banners.
The babble of voices was steady, unbroken—yet tinged with anticipation.
The Sorting of the first years was always an event that drew attention, but this year there was something more.
Something heavier.
Dumbledore could feel it as keenly as a change in the weather.
The great oak doors opened.
Minerva McGonagall, tall and stern as ever, led in the procession.
And the murmurs began.
Normally, perhaps fifty to one hundred children trailed behind her in cautious, wide-eyed awe.
This year—more than a hundred. A veritable tide of new faces poured into the hall, gaping up at the bewitched ceiling, whispering at the long tables, clutching one another in nervous solidarity.
Dumbledore's hands folded upon one another on the table.
His expression remained serene, but inwardly his mind whirled.
More than double the usual intake.
He had known, of course—professors had been dispatched in haste all summer, chasing acceptance letters, escorting bewildered Muggle-borns through their first trips to Diagon Alley.
Even Albus himself had gone on such errands, guiding small, confused children through the bustle of Ollivander's and Flourish and Blotts.
And yet, knowing did not lessen the impact of seeing them now, this great river of children, standing on the threshold of magic.
They seemed different than he remembered.
When he had first brought young Tom Riddle to Diagon Alley all those decades ago, the boy had radiated a hunger—a desperate need to dominate what he did not yet understand.
The children now filing into Hogwarts did not bear that edge.
Wide-eyed and uncertain, yes.
But there was no coiled malice in them.
They were softer, brighter.
Hopeful.
It reassured him.
And yet, in the pit of his stomach, a question gnawed.
Why now?
Why this sudden flood?
In the last decade or so enrollment to Hogwarts had declined as a result of the war, many families having been wiped out, or young wizards and witches snuffed out before getting the chance to form families of their own.
Had something happened in the muggle world to cause this influx of new magical muggle blood?
~
As Albus pondered, distracted by his own thoughts on the matter.
The Sorting began.
The Sorting Hat, perched upon its stool, sang its usual warning of unity and strife.
Then the line of children dwindled one by one into their houses.
And a pattern emerged.
Hufflepuff swelled most of all, its table soon crowded with jubilant cheers.
Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, too, gained their fair share, each receiving a steady stream of clever, brave-eyed children.
But Slytherin…
Few approached the green and silver.
Those who did often lingered on the stool longer than was usual, the Sorting Hat humming and muttering, until at last it cried some other house.
Dumbledore's gaze flicked once to Severus Snape, seated in brooding silence at the far end of the high table.
His eyes were sharp, his mouth pressed thin.
He too had noticed the imbalance.
A Hogwarts where Slytherin waned was not a natural Hogwarts.
Though typically only Pure-bloods wound up in this house, the numerical difference this year was staggering.
H: 66 G: 24 R: 49 S: 14
Almost as surprising was the fact that Ravenclaw usually the house next to slytherin to gain the fewest new members saw a great boon this year.
~
As the ceremony went on, Albus allowed his mind to drift outward.
To the summer.
To whispers carried across the Ministry.
The name had reached his ears, though faintly, more rumor than fact.
Cassius.
The boy who had walked into the Ministry alone.
The boy who had demanded to sit O.W.L.s before ever stepping foot in Hogwarts.
the boy who had passed them all—Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies—with Outstanding marks.
The boy who, by ancient clause, had been emancipated, recognized already as an adult wizard.
Albus had read the report in silence, lips pursed.
He had not attended the hearing, and so the ruling had gone uncontested.
It disturbed him—not because the child had succeeded, but because of the timing.
Coincidence was rarely so bountiful in the wizarding world.
And now here sat twice as many first-years as normal, more than half of them Muggle-born, as though conjured from the very air.
Dumbledore's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
With the new mass of muggleborn wizards and witches his focus was split, allowing a natural genius to rise up, another orphan, though one far more terrifying than these young new sprouts.
To sit at the examinations seven years early, not even Dumbledore himself figured he could have pulled that off in his youth, not even Tom Riddle, and should this new child take a dark turn a new dark lord might right up before they had dealt with the two they were already aware of.
~
Another Gryffindor was sorted to a round of applause.
The sea of red and gold swelled cheerfully, oblivious to the quiet storm turning in their Headmaster's mind.
He smiled faintly, stroking his beard, giving no sign of his unease.
This, too, was a familiar game.
For had he not watched Tom Riddle with similar suspicion once upon a time?
Had he not felt the creeping cold of inevitability even as he had hoped to change the boy's course?
But these children were not Tom.
He reminded himself of that firmly.
He had seen them, spoken with some of them, escorted them through Diagon Alley himself.
They were not serpents waiting to strike—they were children eager to belong.
And yet…
Cassius.
Who are you, child?
What path do you walk, the light or the dark?
Are you the savior to save us from the second dark lord who has yet risen, or would you side with him and cause us all to fall even further?
~
The last student was sorted.
The hall rang with cheers as house tables welcomed their new charges.
Food blossomed into being on golden platters, roast meats and breads and puddings filling the air with savory warmth.
Albus rose, arms spread wide, and offered his traditional welcome.
His voice, rich and kind, carried through the Great Hall.
He spoke of friendship, of courage, of learning.
He reminded them of the Forbidden Forest's dangers, of the need for care in their studies.
Introduced yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who was new that year.
His eyes twinkled, his tone warm.
But in the back of his mind, unease sat heavy.
This year was unlike any before.
He could feel it in his bones.
The castle itself seemed to hum faintly under the new burden of magic, the wards stretching, reshaping, as if bracing for what was to come.
~
Later, when the feast had waned and students were led to their dormitories, Dumbledore lingered in the Great Hall alone.
The candles floated lower now, their flames soft and tired.
He walked slowly to the Sorting Hat, resting once more upon its stool.
"You did well today old friend."
The hat stirred before looking up at the aged headmaster,
"there hasnt been a sorting like this in almost a hundred years now, god help those slytherins if they choose to pick a fight in the next few years"
The hat chuckled at the thouht impartial though he might be the idea of those young brat who always tried to steal him, or cast charms to alter his sorting ability getting their comeuppance.