On the morning of September 1st, I was fully prepared for "work and defense," having dressed in my school uniform of trousers, a shirt, a jumper, and a tie in advance. Of course, shoes were not forgotten. Good polished boots, although they are actually half-boots. My robes and other personal items were in my backpack, just like everything else, while my school trunk travelled practically empty. I wasn't squeamish and had applied a whole complex of magical contours and enchantments to the clothes to improve their practicality and durability, coupled with support for comfortable conditions.
In honour of my first departure to school as a student in general, and to Hogwarts in particular, my parents decided to be late for work. I was not facing a classic trip by train and boats, but a departure by Floo, and not in the morning, but almost in the evening. Therefore, I listened to instructions about good behaviour, worries, and so on. Only at half-past six in the evening did the doorbell ring.
Professor McGonagall came for me personally, made sure I was fine and ready for studies, and even Apparated with me to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. The sensation of moving in such a harsh way, when you are literally dragged through a hole in space the size of a needle's eye, was indescribable. In my attempts to normalize my "inner world," I didn't even notice how we flew by Floo to another pub, gloomy and stern. The barman there matched the pub—tall, powerful, bearded.
"Hello, Aberforth," the Professor greeted him, receiving only a nod.
There were no customers in the pub, and we didn't linger, leaving immediately.
The fresh air was incredibly pleasant, and I even allowed myself to pause slightly and take a couple of deep breaths.
"Is everything alright, Mr. Granger?"
"Yes, yes, Professor. The air here is painfully clean."
"Nature, the lake, the forest. Hogwarts is located in a very good place from both a magical and natural point of view."
"I completely agree with you, Professor."
The weather outside was overcast, and I wouldn't be surprised if a storm with rain broke out soon. Ahead, at the end of the path, wooden and stone houses with high and sharp roof slopes were visible. The soft light of fires burned in the houses, and all would be well, but the weather was gloomy. And a strange feeling…
"Something is wrong around here, Professor," I noted as we walked to Hogwarts.
"This year the castle will be guarded by Dementors," McGonagall grew stern.
"And when did the school turn into a branch of Azkaban?"
"You know about Dementors and Azkaban?"
"I like to read and collect information. It is important."
"I agree. Such measures were taken by the Ministry of Magic in connection with the escape of Sirius Black."
"I've heard. Even among ordinary people, they warned about him on the evening news."
Tiny shards of knowledge about Dementors spun in my head, and I clearly didn't get them in this world—here only from books. The Patronus Charm, belonging to higher light magic, as they call it here—that is their weakness. I must certainly learn it.
When we passed the village and almost reached Hogwarts, literally before its gates, I felt a sharp drop in temperature. Steam came out of my mouth, and in the magic, the clear presence of quite advanced undead was felt. Turning sharply on the spot and pulling out my wand, I pointed it at the five subjects that appeared. Huge black robes floating above the ground. Dark voids under the hoods, the hems of the robes ragged, like the sleeves, flaps from which seemed to move underwater—smoothly and slowly.
The Professor was quick to turn around and point her wand at them. Some negative emotions literally began to roll over my emotions… Negative negatives, you can't even say it differently! As if someone was desperately trying to rock my bad memories, plunging me into depression. Won't work—I hung a bunch of protection on my mental plane long ago. But how vile it is. Even the Professor turned pale.
"He is not here," the Professor said sternly. "Sirius Black is not here."
The Dementors hung in the air for some time and flew away, and McGonagall imperceptibly caught her breath, as did I. I have several ways of fighting the undead in my stash, but I haven't tried them with a magic wand, like much else—this concentrator and conductor is quite unique and directs magic somewhat differently from the usual. Magic without a wand, as I know how to do, is out of the question—such abilities should be kept secret, and then they will be aces up my sleeve.
"Follow me," McGonagall said more strictly than before.
A couple of minutes later, we passed through the towering double doors of the main entrance of Hogwarts and walked along rather dark corridors. The sound of footsteps on the stone floor echoed hollowly along the corridors and was lost there, in the darkness under the ceiling, where almost no light fell—it was evening dark outside the window, and the lights hadn't been turned on in the castle. Is it the wrong time or something? Saving on torches?
McGonagall led me to large doors, pushed them lightly with her hand, and we entered a large hall. Four long tables stretched almost the entire length of the hall, and on the other side was a small podium on which stood another table, perpendicular to those four. Behind it already sat, bored, a small man in a tailcoat and green robes. Moustache, neat round glasses.
As we walked to that far table on the podium, the little man perked up and looked at me with interest.
"Minerva," he spoke. "This is, as I understand it, young Mr. Granger?"
"Precisely, Filius," McGonagall nodded and addressed me. "Sit somewhere nearby for now, at any table. Other students will arrive soon. You will undergo the Sorting ceremony last."
"Very well, Professor."
I sat on a bench at the first table I came across and began to wait. Within a few minutes, teachers began to gather and sit at the table to which I had been led.
"Mr. Granger," a familiar voice sounded behind me, and turning around I saw the Headmaster.
"Hello, Headmaster."
Dumbledore smiled into his beard, and the light reflected intricately in his half-moon glasses.
"How do you like the Great Hall of Hogwarts?"
I looked around, inspected the illusion of a gloomy, cloud-covered sky on the ceiling. The Headmaster waved his hand, and many burning candles appeared above the tables, floating in the air.
"Amusing charms on the ceiling, sir."
"Very… succinct, yes," the Headmaster nodded. "Well, the students are on their way. I think I should take my seat too."
The Headmaster approached the teachers' table and sat on a large throne-like chair. Soon, all seats at the teachers' table were occupied. They were quite colourful people, from stern and gloomy to cheerful and positive. There was even a huge and shaggy man with a bushy beard. Probably some half-blood.
Literally a couple of minutes later, a crowd of students of different ages poured into the hall. They were a bit wet, crumpled, sluggish, pale, and frightened, but quickly coming to their senses. Everyone wore school uniforms and robes with coloured linings. They sat at tables according to colour—I sat at the one for those in blue. Ravenclaw, if Hogwarts: A History is to be believed.
Quickly taking a robe out of my backpack, I threw it over myself and turned around as if I were sitting at the table. They paid minimal attention to me, talking about their own things. As it turned out from these conversations, Dementors visited the train with children and many felt sick—the influence of this undead is very harmful.
For ten minutes the hall buzzed quietly with voices, and then the doors of the hall opened again, and Professor McGonagall led in a small crowd of new arrivals. The first-years didn't look great. Lost and shocked, but they quickly recovered, looking at the beautiful illusion charms under the ceiling.
The Professor led them to the podium. A stool was brought out, and the Sorting Hat was placed on it. It seemed to come to life, and a semblance of a face formed from the folds, immediately striking up a song, missing the notes.
After such a peculiar concert, Professor McGonagall took a parchment and began reading the names of first-years from it alphabetically. The named one came out of the crowd, sat on the stool facing the house tables, and the Hat was put on their head. It would either immediately or after thinking a little shout loudly, to the whole hall, the house where the first-year would study, after which the hat was removed, and the student went to the table of their house.
As I noticed, the distribution was more or less even, but slightly more students entered Gryffindor. Hmm, and Hermione studies in Gryffindor.
The Professor didn't leave, although the first-years ran out. Then the Headmaster stood up from his seat, approached the lectern, on which a golden animated owl with spread wings and a couple of candles on candlesticks were displayed.
"Before finishing the Sorting ceremony, I would like to say a few words," the Headmaster began. "To begin with, today, for the first time, not only first-years have come to us as students, but also another young man. Two years ago, due to health reasons, he could not enter the first year with everyone else and was undergoing treatment. This year, to our general joy, he will be able to join our friendly team."
Dumbledore nodded, and McGonagall looked at me and loudly, like the previous names, pronounced:
"Granger, Hector."
I stood up and briskly moved to the stool, turned sharply, flapping the hems of my robes, sat down, and the hat was immediately put on my head.
Silence. Silence. A light mental scan, not touching memory, but evaluating personality.
"How interesting, yes…" the hat's voice sounded from all sides.
It seems like a sort of mental transmission.
"…And where should I send you?"
"I don't know, respected Hat," I also mentally directed words to this amusing artifact. "I didn't prepare for such a question, and I have no personal preferences. Look, my sister studies in Gryffindor."
"Decisive and purposeful, I see. You, young man, would look good in Ravenclaw. I feel that you can be a very extraordinary person. Hufflepuff would meet your diligence with open arms."
"One does not need to belong to a certain house to show the proper character traits. That is only your own choice."
"Well, in that case…"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted to the whole hall.
The dwarf inside me rejoices. If books are to be believed, a friendly team, work, and life in a dungeon await me. If only someone would provide ale with meat. What kind of nonsense is in my head?