I am Happy to Publish Another Chapter of The Wandless Archmage
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The taxi pulled up outside Number 4 Privet Drive just as the sun began to set.
Harry climbed out, and Flitwick helped him wrestle his trunk and bags onto the pavement. The house looked exactly as it always had, unwelcoming.
"Well, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said, straightening his tweed jacket. "This is where I leave you."
Harry nodded, suddenly reluctant to see him go. Flitwick had been kind. The first adult who'd treated him like he mattered.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "For everything today."
"My pleasure entirely." Flitwick smiled warmly. "Now, remember, September first, King's Cross Station. Platform nine and three-quarters. The train leaves at eleven o'clock sharp, so don't be late."
"Platform nine and three-quarters?" Harry frowned. "How do I find it?"
"You'll figure it out. Look for the wizarding families, they'll show you the way." Flitwick pulled a small card from his pocket and pressed it into Harry's hand. "My contact information. If you need anything before term starts, you send me a letter."
Harry looked down at the card. Professor F. Flitwick, Charms Master, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. An address in Scotland was printed beneath.
"Thank you, sir."
"You're very welcome, my boy." Flitwick hesitated, then added gently, "And don't worry too much about the wand. We'll sort it out once you're at school. Professor Dumbledore is a brilliant man, if anyone can help, it's him."
Harry tried to smile, though the hollow feeling from Ollivanders hadn't quite left. "Right. Yeah."
Flitwick patted his arm once, then climbed back into the taxi. "See you in a few weeks, Mr. Potter. I look forward to having you in my class."
The taxi pulled away, and Harry watched until it disappeared.
Then he turned toward the house and dragged his trunk up the path.
Vernon opened the door before Harry could knock. He filled the doorway, arms crossed, face impassive.
"You're back, then," he said flatly.
"Yes, sir."
Vernon's eyes flicked to the trunk, the bags, the owl cage (empty, thankfully). His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He simply stepped aside to let Harry in.
Petunia stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She glanced at Harry and turned sharply away without a word.
From upstairs came the sound of Dudley's door closing quickly.
No one asked what he did, what he'd bought, or where he'd been.
Harry dragged his trunk down the hallway to the cupboard under the stairs. He shoved the trunk inside, then squeezed in after it.
The cupboard felt smaller than ever with all his new things taking up space. But it was his space, and for once, it was full of things that belonged to him.
Harry sat on his mattress and pulled out the bag from Madam Malkin's. He unwrapped the tissue paper carefully, almost reverently.
Three sets of black robes. A winter cloak. Even a pointed hat, though he suspected he wouldn't actually wear that.
Harry stood and pulled the robe on over his clothes.
It fit.
Perfectly.
The sleeves reached his wrists, not dangling past his fingertips. The hem brushed his ankles, not pooling around his feet. Everything was perfect.
Harry looked down at himself, then at the small, cracked mirror propped against the wall, the only mirror he had.
The reflection staring back at him looked... different.
Not like the scrawny boy in oversized clothes who cooked breakfast and scrubbed floors.
He looked like a student.
They were proof that the wizarding world was real. That Hogwarts was real. That he had a place waiting for him, somewhere far away from Privet Drive.
For a moment, Harry let himself feel it.
The happiness wasn't real.
He carefully folded the robes and placed them back in the bag, treating them like the treasure they were. Then he tucked the bag into the corner of the cupboard.
Tomorrow, he'd start reading the books. He'd learn everything he could before term started. He'd be ready.
But tonight, he let himself imagine walking through Hogwarts in those robes, sitting in classes, learning magic.
Harry lay down on his mattress, staring at the dark ceiling, and smiled.
In three weeks, everything would change.
He just had to be patient a little longer.
That morning, Harry woke earlier than usual. For a moment, he lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the house before the Dursleys began their day. Then, unable to resist any longer, he reached under his bed and pulled out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk.
He had wanted to open it the moment he got it, but now, with a whole stretch of day ahead of him, it felt even more real. Sitting cross-legged on his mattress, the book resting carefully in his lap, he opened the cover with reverent care and began to read, the morning light bright across the pages.
The introduction was titled "The Fundamentals of Spell-Casting."
Magic, it began, is the art of imposing one's will upon the world through focused intent, precise wand movements, and clearly spoken incantations. The wand serves as a conduit, channeling and refining the wizard's innate magical power...
Harry's eyes caught on that word. Wand.
He kept reading.
Without a wand, magic becomes unfocused and unpredictable. The wand is the wizard's most essential tool, and proper wand technique is the foundation of all spell-work.
Harry's stomach tightened, but he pushed forward.
The first chapter covered the Levitation Charm, Wingardium Leviosa.
There was a diagram showing the precise wand movement: a swish and flick. Instructions on pronunciation: "Win-GAR-dee-um Levi-O-sa." Notes on intent: Visualize the object rising smoothly into the air.
And at the bottom: Note: This spell requires a wand. Attempting wandless levitation is extremely advanced and not recommended for students below N.E.W.T. level.
Harry flipped to the next spell. The Unlocking Charm, Alohomora.
Wand movement: a backward question mark shape. Clear incantation. Focused will.
He turned pages faster now, scanning spells at random.
Lumos, the light charm he'd already managed to do on his own, albeit briefly. Even that one listed: Standard wand-lighting charm. To extinguish, speak 'Nox.'
Incendio, fire-making charm.
Reparo, mending charm.
For every single spell, a wand is required. Every. Single. One.
Harry grabbed Magical Theory and flipped through it desperately. Surely there would be something about wandless magic, some technique he could learn.
He found a section in Chapter 12: "Advanced Applications."
Wandless magic is exceptionally rare and requires years of training to master even basic spells. Most adult wizards are incapable of performing wandless magic beyond minor feats such as summoning small objects in moments of extreme emotion. It is not a practical alternative to wand-based spell-casting and should not be relied upon.
Harry's hands trembled as he set the book down.
He grabbed A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration next, scanning the table of contents, the introduction, the first three chapters.
All of it assumed the reader had a wand. Every technique, every spell.
There was nothing for someone like him.
Harry's excitement, the joy he'd felt wearing his robes, started to die.
Ollivander's words echoed in his mind like a death knell tolling across still water: "I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that I have no wand for you."
What did that mean? Was he broken somehow, the old wandmaker had been too polite to name? Was there something twisted in the very fabric of his magic, some corruption that made him incompatible with the tools every other wizard took for granted?
What if he arrived at Hogwarts and couldn't perform any of the spells? What if he failed every class, stumbling through incantations while his classmates soared, because he couldn't manage even the simplest charm with a borrowed or makeshift wand?
What if they sent him back to Privet Drive?
Back to the cupboard. Back to the darkness.
No.
Harry shook his head sharply. He'd made things happen before, the cupboard lock springing open at his command, the warmth he'd conjured from nothing but will and want. He'd done all of that without a wand, without training, without anyone to teach him the proper way.
Maybe he could learn the spells the same way. The hard way is his way.
Harry set The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 on the floor in front of him, its cover worn and promising. He held out his hand, fingers splayed like a man reaching for salvation, and focused on the book the way he'd focused every time before he succeeded in doing magic.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said clearly, performing the swish-and-flick motion Flitwick had demonstrated in the shop, his empty hand cutting through the air.
Nothing happened.
The book sat there, inert and mocking, a testament to his failure.
Harry tried again, pouring more will into the attempt, more raw desire, imagining the book rising smoothly into the air like a bird taking flight.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The book twitched.
Just barely, the corner lifted a fraction of an inch, then settled back down as if the effort had exhausted it.
A twitch. That was all he'd managed. Not levitation. Not even close to what the spell was meant to do.
He tried three more times, each attempt more desperate than the last, his voice rising with each incantation, growing louder and sharper with frustration until.
"Shut up down there!" Vernon's voice roared from upstairs like a beast disturbed in its den, followed by a heavy thump against the floor.
Harry froze, breathing hard.
Silence settled over the house again.
Harry slumped against the wall, his head looking down at the floor, almost in a desperate way.
He'd been so excited. He'd thought that once he had the books, he could start learning, could arrive at Hogwarts prepared and capable.
But without a wand, the books were almost useless.
He lay down on his mattress and stared at the ceiling in the darkness.
Maybe Flitwick was right. Maybe Dumbledore would have an answer. Maybe there was some solution Harry just hadn't thought of yet.
Harry closed his eyes and curled onto his side, exhaustion pulling at him.
He refused to give up. He wouldn't. Even if he had to figure everything out the hard way, even if it took twice as long as everyone else.
He'd find a way.
He had to.
The last weeks of August blurred into the same day lived over and over.
Harry spent his days reading. He couldn't practice the spells properly, but he could learn the theory. He memorized wand movements, pronunciations, and the principles behind transfiguration and charms. He read Magical Theory cover to cover twice, absorbing everything about intent, focus, and magical energy.
Knowledge, at least, didn't require a wand.
At night, when the Dursleys were asleep, he practiced what he could do.
Light first Lumos. He could hold a steady glow in his palm for nearly three minutes now before exhaustion forced him to stop.
The Dursleys ignored him almost completely. Vernon grunted when Harry asked to borrow the car on September 1st (he refused, naturally). Petunia left food on the counter without looking at him. Dudley stayed in his room.
It was lonely.
But it was peaceful.
The night before September 1st, Harry packed his trunk with care.
Robes folded neatly, books, and his few possessions: socks, underwear. Everything he owned fit easily into one trunk.
He checked his Hogwarts letter many times, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything on the supply list.
Then he lay down and stared at the ceiling, too wired to sleep.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
For better or worse, his life at Privet Drive was ending.
Harry woke to grey morning light filtering through the cupboard's slats and dressed quickly, his heart hammering with equal parts anticipation and dread, before following Vernon out to the car in silence.
Vernon's car pulled up to King's Cross Station at half past ten, tires squealing like wounded animals as he braked too hard, too sudden, as if he couldn't bear to spend one more moment than necessary.
He didn't turn off the engine.
The car sat there idling, rumbling like a beast waiting to flee.
Harry climbed out and took his trunk from the boot, struggling with its weight, books and robes and all the trappings of a life he was only beginning to understand. Vernon didn't help. He just sat there behind the wheel like a king on a throne of vinyl and steel, hands gripping the steering wheel.
"Thanks for the ride," Harry said, because some foolish part that had survived eleven years in a cupboard still felt compelled to be polite.
Vernon grunted.
The moment Harry closed the boot, the car lurched away from the curb and disappeared into London traffic.
Harry stood on the pavement, trunk at his feet, surrounded by rushing commuters and the smell of exhaust fumes.
Right then.
He grabbed his trolley, borrowed from a stack near the entrance, loaded his trunk onto it, and pushed through the station doors.
King's Cross was massive and chaotic. Trains arrived and departed with mechanical announcements echoing overhead. People hurried past with suitcases and briefcases, checking watches, shouting goodbyes.
Harry scanned the departure boards, looking for any mention of Hogwarts.
Nothing.
He walked along the platforms, reading the signs: Platform 8, Platform 9, Platform 10...
But there's no Platform 9¾.
Harry stopped between platforms 9 and 10, panic beginning to flutter in his chest. There was nothing here. Just a solid brick barrier separating the two platforms.
Had Flitwick been joking? Was this some kind of test?
Harry pushed his trolley back and forth, searching desperately for some hidden door, some sign, something.
"Packed to the gills, Fred, honestly, I don't know how you fit all that nonsense."
Harry's head snapped up.
A family was crossing the station: a plump woman with red hair, several boys with the same ginger coloring, and a girl who looked about nine or ten. Their trolleys were stacked with trunks. One boy had an owl cage balanced precariously on top.
Wizards.
Harry's heart leapt. He followed them at a distance, trying not to look like he was following them.
They stopped at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, at a solid brick wall.
"All right, Percy, you first," the woman said.
One of the older boys, tall, wearing glasses, nodded seriously. He pushed his trolley toward the barrier, running.
And disappeared straight through it.
Harry blinked.
"Fred, you next," the woman said.
Harry stared at the solid brick wall. He walked straight through it. Just... walked through, like it wasn't even there.
"Ron, go," the woman said.
The woman and the young girl were approaching the barrier now, chatting about getting a good seat. Harry realized this was his chance, if he waited too long, he'd lose his nerve.
He took a deep breath, gripped his trolley tightly, and started walking.
Then faster.
Then running.
The barrier loomed ahead.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes.
The noise had changed. The harsh echoes of King's Cross had been replaced by something warmer, more excited. Harry looked around, his breath catching.
He was standing on a different platform entirely.
A scarlet steam engine sat gleaming on the tracks, smoke billowing from its chimney. The words Hogwarts Express were emblazoned on the side. Families crowded the platform, witches and wizards in robes, parents hugging their children goodbye, students hauling trunks and owl cages aboard
A sign hanging from the vaulted ceiling read, in bold scarlet letters that seemed to shimmer in the steam-filled air: Platform 9¾.
He'd made it.
He was really going to Hogwarts.
The Muggle world was behind him now. Privet Drive with its lawns and locked cupboards, the Dursleys with their contempt and their fear, the long years of hunger and loneliness, all of it ending like a nightmare.
Harry struggled to lift his trunk onto the train, his arms shaking with the effort. A helpful older student, someone's older brother, probably, grabbed the other end and hoisted it up with ease.
"Thanks," Harry said breathlessly.
"No worries. First year?"
"Yeah."
"You'll love it. Good luck!"
The boy disappeared into the crowd, and Harry dragged his trunk down the narrow corridor, peering into compartments as he went. Most were already full groups of students laughing, comparing new robes, catching up after summer.
Finally, near the back of the train, Harry found one that was mostly empty. A single boy sat by the window, reading a book titled Hogwarts: A History.
Harry knocked on the glass door. "Mind if I sit here?"
The boy looked up. He had dark hair that stuck up slightly at odd angles, curious brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a friendly, open face.
"Not at all." He set his book aside and helped Harry wrestle the trunk onto the overhead rack. "I'm Terry. Terry Boot."
"Harry Potter."
Terry's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead to the scar and widened slightly. But instead of staring or gawking, he just smiled and stuck out his hand.
"Nice to meet you."
They shook hands, and Harry felt a knot of tension.
"First year?" Terry asked as they settled into their seats.
"Yeah. You too?"
"Yep. I'm Muggle-born my parents are both dentists, haven't got a clue about any of this." He gestured vaguely at the platform outside, where witches and wizards were still saying their goodbyes. "But I've been reading everything I can get my hands on. Did you know Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by four of the greatest witches and wizards of the age?"
Harry grinned. "I didn't, actually."
"It's fascinating. There are moving staircases, ghosts, a giant squid in the lake." Terry paused, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry, I'm talking to much. I do that when I'm nervous."
"Don't be sorry. I barely know anything. I only found out I was a wizard a few weeks ago."
Terry's eyebrows shot up. "Really? But you're, I mean, you're Harry Potter."
"Yeah, but I grew up with Muggles. They didn't tell me about any of this."
"That's mad," Terry said, shaking his head. "Well, if you've got any questions, I can tell you anything of what i know, I've read all the course books twice."
"Have you got a wand?"
"Course I have," Terry said. He closed the book on his thumb and reached into the interior pocket of his jacket. He pulled the wand free with a little flourish that was probably accidental.
Harry leaned forward.
"Ash and unicorn hair," Terry said, turning it slowly between his fingers. "Twelve and a quarter inches. Mr Ollivander said it was 'pleasantly pliant.'" He did a passable imitation of the old wandmaker's whispery cadence, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Took ages, though. I must've tried thirty before that one did anything.
"It's brilliant," Harry said, and meant it.
"I didn't."
Terry blinked. "You didn't what?"
"Get one." Harry's voice came out quieter than he'd intended, so he said it again, steadier. "I haven't got a wand."
Terry looked curious but didn't push. "I'm sure they'll sort it out at school. Hogwarts has been around for a thousand years they've probably seen everything."
The train whistle blew.
The compartment door slid open, and a girl poked her head in. She had long, sleek black hair, pretty features, and an uncertain expression.
"Sorry, everywhere else is full. Can I sit here?"
"Of course," Terry said immediately, shifting over to make room.
"Thanks." She put her trunk and introduced herself, "I'm Cho. Cho Chang."
"Terry Boot."
"Harry Potter."
Cho's eyes widened as she sat down across from them. "Oh! I've heard about you. My mum told me, you're the one who stopped You-Know-Who."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I guess. I don't really remember it."
"That must be strange," Cho said thoughtfully. Then she seemed to shake herself. "Sorry, I'm being rude."
"It's fine," Harry said, and found he meant it. Cho's curiosity felt genuine.
"Are you Muggle-born too?" Terry asked.
"Half-blood. My mum's a witch, dad's a Muggle. They met at university, drove my grandparents mad, but they've been married twenty years now." She grinned. "What about you?"
"Muggle-born," Terry said.
The train lurched into motion, and the platform began to slide away. Parents waved; students hung out of windows, shouting last goodbyes.
They were moving.
Harry pressed his face to the window, watching London disappear behind them, replaced by countryside, green fields, rolling hills.
"What house do you think you'll be in?" Cho asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
Terry's answer was quick. "Ravenclaw. I love learning, and I've read that Ravenclaws value intelligence and curiosity."
"I'm at Ravenclaw," Cho said. What about you, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "I honestly don't know enough to guess.
"I've heard Slytherin's the one to avoid," Terry said, lowering his voice slightly. "Apparently You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, and loads of dark wizards came from there."
"That doesn't mean everyone in Slytherin is bad though," Cho pointed out fairly. "Right?"
"I suppose not."
A witch pushing a trolley stopped at their compartment door. "Anything from the trolley, dears?"
Harry's eyes widened at the array of sweets: Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, and Liquorice Wands.
"I'll take some of everything," he said, pulling out lot of coins.
Terry and Cho stared as Harry paid and returned with armfuls of sweets.
"Help yourselves," Harry said, dumping them onto the seat between them.
"Are you sure?" Cho asked.
"Definitely. I've never had any of this stuff before."
They tore into the packages, comparing Chocolate Frog cards (Harry got Dumbledore, Terry got Morgana, Cho got Circe), and laughing as Harry bit into a vomit-flavored bean by accident.
"Oh God," Harry gasped, grabbing a Pumpkin Pasty to get rid of the taste. "That's disgusting."
"Every Flavour means every flavour," Cho said, giggling. "You've got to be careful."
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
The announcement made the students go into chaos, scrambling to change into their robes, shouting to friends, pressing their faces against windows to catch a first glimpse of the castle.
Harry, Terry, and Cho took turns changing in the compartment. When they were all in their black robes, Harry caught sight of his reflection in the window.
He looked like a real student now. Like he belonged.
The train began to slow, brakes hissing, and finally lurched to a stop.
Outside, the platform was small and dark, lit only by a few oil lamps. Mountains loomed in the distance, silhouetted against the darkening sky.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
The voice was impossibly deep and booming. Harry turned and his jaw dropped.
The man calling to them was enormous, easily twice as tall as a normal person, with a wild tangle of black hair and a beard that covered most of his face. He held a lamp aloft in one massive hand.
"He's enormous," Terry whispered, eyes wide.
"C'mon, follow me, any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"
Harry and Terry joined the stream of nervous-looking students following the giant man down a steep, narrow path. The air smelled of pine and water. Darkness pressed in around them, broken only by the swaying light of the lamp.
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the giant called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."
The path opened suddenly onto the shore of a vast black lake. Its surface was perfectly still, reflecting the stars like a mirror.
And waiting at the water's edge was a fleet of small wooden boats.
"No more'n four to a boat!" the giant called.
Harry and Terry climbed into the nearest one. A nervous-looking boy with sandy hair hesitated, then climbed in after them.
"I'm Dennis," he said quietly. "Dennis Creevey."
"Harry. This is Terry."
Dennis's eyes went wide when he saw Harry's scar, but he didn't say anything.
"We have one more free seat on the boat." Terry said.
"Seems like everyone found a boat, we will have more space than others". Dennis replied.
Once all the first-years were seated, the giant climbed into a boat by himself. It sank low in the water. Terry was sure that it would sink, but it didn't, and the giant raised his lamp.
"Forward!"
The boats began to move on their own, gliding smoothly across the glassy surface. No sound of the engine.
Harry trailed his fingers in the water, which was ice-cold, and looked up at the stars. The night was clear, the sky scattered with more stars than he'd ever seen in London.
"There it is!" someone shouted.
They rounded a bend in the shoreline, and.
Harry stopped breathing.
Hogwarts rose before them like something out of a dream.
The castle sat atop a high cliff, impossibly vast, its towers and turrets reaching toward the stars. Hundreds of windows glittered with warm candlelight. Flags flew from the tallest towers, snapping in the wind. The whole structure seemed to glow against the night sky, beautiful and ancient and real.
"Wicked," Terry breathed beside him.
Dennis, who'd been nervous and quiet, looked awestruck.
Harry couldn't speak. Couldn't move. He just stared.
It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
The boats glided closer, passing beneath the shadow of the cliff. Harry craned his neck, trying to see the top, but the castle seemed to go up forever.
They entered a dark tunnel, an underground harbor, and the boats bumped gently against a small dock.
"Everyone out! Mind yer heads, now!"
They scrambled out of the boats onto slippery stone. The giant checked that everyone was accounted for, then gestured toward a set of stone steps carved into the rock.
"Up yeh go!"
The steps seemed to go on forever, winding upward in the darkness.
Finally, they emerged onto flat ground, a wide expanse of grass leading to enormous oak doors.
The giant stopped and turned to face them, his lamp casting strange shadows across his bearded face.
"Everyone here? Right then."
He raised one massive fist and knocked three times on the castle doors.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The sound echoed like thunder.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, slowly, the doors began to swing open.
Golden light spilled out, warm and welcoming.
Harry stepped forward with the others, his heart pounding, his hands trembling slightly.
The Entrance Hall was so large Harry could have fit the entire Dursley house inside it and still had room left over.
A tall, severe-looking witch in emerald robes stood waiting for them at the top of the stone steps. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her expression was stern but not unkind.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But first, you must be sorted into your houses."
She paused, her sharp eyes sweeping over them.
"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule-breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the House Cup, a great honor."
Harry glanced at Terry, who looked simultaneously excited and terrified.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a moment, in front of the rest of the school. Wait here, please."
McGonagall swept away through a pair of enormous double doors, leaving the first-years in nervousness.
The doors swung open again, and McGonagall reappeared.
"Form a line and follow me."
They shuffled into line. Harry ended up between Terry and a girl with bushy brown hair who was muttering spells under her breath.
The doors opened fully, and Harry's breath caught.
The Great Hall was breathtaking.
Four long tables ran the length of the hall, filled with hundreds of students in black robes with different colored trim, red, yellow, blue, and green. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, casting everything in warm light.
Above, the ceiling showed the night sky. Stars glittered, and wisps of cloud drifted past as if there were no ceiling at all, just open sky.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," the bushy-haired girl whispered knowledgeably. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
The first-years walked between the tables, Gryffindor on the left, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in the middle, Slytherin on the right. Hundreds of faces turned to watch them pass.
At the front of the hall sat the teachers' table, elevated on a platform. And in the center with his long silver beard and half-moon spectacles, sat Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore rose from his seat, and the Great Hall fell into a silent mode, waiting for his words.
"Welcome," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner, "to another year at Hogwarts. Before we fill our stomachs, I must first make a few announcements."
A few nervous laughs rippled through the first-years.
"Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that magic in the corridors remains forbidden. The Forbidden Forest is, as the name rather generously hints, forbidden."
He paused, and something shifted behind those half-moon spectacles.
"And finally, I must ask that no student go to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. Not unless they have the will to die in a very unpleasant manner."
Silence.
Professor McGonagall stopped before a three-legged stool. On it sat a patched, frayed wizard's hat.
It looked old. Ancient and completely ordinary.
"When I call your name," McGonagall said, "you will sit on the stool, and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head. The hat will determine which house you belong to."
A hat. They were being sorted by a hat.
Before anyone could process this, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened like a mouth, and it began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all!
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be..."
The hat sang about each house, brave Gryffindor, loyal Hufflepuff, wise Ravenclaw, cunning Slytherin, before finishing with a flourish.
Applause rang out. The hat went still.
McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name, step forward. Abbott, Hannah!"
A girl with blonde pigtails stumbled forward, sat on the stool, and the hat was placed on her head.
A pause.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers. Hannah ran over, beaming.
The sorting continued.
"Boot, Terry!"
Terry shot Harry a nervous look before walking to the stool. His hands were shaking as McGonagall lowered the hat onto his head.
It sat there for several long seconds.
Then.
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table on the far right exploded with applause. Terry grinned, pulled off the hat, and practically ran to join Cho, and they both waved at Harry, who managed a weak smile.
His stomach was churning. What if the hat couldn't sort him because he didn't have a wand?
More names.
"Bulstrode, Millicent!" — "SLYTHERIN!"
"Potter, Harry!"
Absolute silence, the kind that falls over a battlefield when the king falls from his horse.
Then whispers erupted, spreading from table to table, bench to bench, until the entire hall rustled with barely suppressed excitement.
"Potter? Did she say Potter?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"Where? I can't see, is that him?"
"The scar! Look at his forehead!"
Every head in the Great Hall turned toward him as one, four long tables full of students, all staring. The teachers at the high table, all watching. Even the ghosts drifting through the air seemed to pause and take notice.
Harry's legs felt like water as he stepped forward, as he forced one foot in front of the other. The walk to the stool seemed to take forever, an endless journey across flagstones worn smooth by a thousand years of students who had walked this same path, faced this same trial.
The Boy Who Lived, they called him. But what if he wasn't enough? What if he failed before he'd even begun?
He sat down. The stool felt too small and weak, as if it might collapse beneath him at any moment.
Professor McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat, and it was heavier than it looked when she lowered it onto Harry's head.
Everything went dark.
And then a voice spoke in his ear, quiet and thoughtful.
"Difficult. Very difficult."
Harry tensed.
"Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. Ambition, oh yes, quite a bit of that. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"
Not Slytherin, Harry thought desperately. Please, not Slytherin.
"Not Slytherin?" The hat sounded amused. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know. Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness."
Please. Anywhere but Slytherin.
"Hmm. Curious. Most curious." A pause. "You have something unusual about you, Harry Potter. Wandless, aren't you? Powerful, though. Very powerful. And clever, oh yes, you've got a mind that hungers to learn, to understand. You want to prove you belong here."
Harry's throat tightened.
"Ravenclaw would suit you well. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure, after all. You've got the mind for it. And the determination. Yes, I think I know where you belong."
The hat's voice rose to a shout that the whole hall could hear:
"RAVENCLAW!"
The Ravenclaw table exploded.
Cheering, applause, students were standing, waving him over.
Harry pulled off the hat with trembling hands and walked toward the blue-and-bronze table in a daze.
Terry and Cho were grinning, making space for him between them.
"We're housemates!" Terry said, clapping him on the back.
"I knew you'd be Ravenclaw," Cho said. "You ask good questions."
Harry sat down, his heart still racing, his hands shaking slightly.
He looked up at the enchanted ceiling, stars glittering, clouds drifting, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
At the teachers' table, Dumbledore was watching him with thoughtful eyes. And beside him, Professor Flitwick gave Harry a small, encouraging nod and a warm smile.
Despite everything, the wand he didn't have, the fear that lurked in the shadows of his mind whispering that he'd fail, that they'd realize their mistake and send him back to Privet Drive.
Harry smiled back.
He'd been sorted. The Hat had made its choice, had seen something in him worth claiming.
He had a house. A place at one of these four tables, among students who wore the same colors, who would become his housemates, perhaps even his friends.
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