WELCOME TO HOGWARTS

The Hogwarts Express finally screeched to a halt, sending a jolt through the carriages. Students began to gather their belongings, eager to disembark after the long journey. Harry, Ron, and Marteen joined the throng, pushing their way through the crowded corridor and out onto a bustling platform that buzzed with excitement and anticipation.

"Firs' years this way! Firs' years over 'ere!" a booming voice called out over the heads of the crowd. Harry craned his neck, trying to locate the source of the voice, and spotted a familiar giant figure standing near a cluster of flickering lanterns. It was Hagrid, his half-giant friend who had rescued him from the Dursleys.

"Who's that?" Ron asked, his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as he watched Hagrid ushering the first years towards a fleet of small boats bobbing gently on the water's edge.

Marteen, however, didn't share Ron's uncertainty. He surveyed Hagrid with a critical eye, his dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Look," he muttered to Harry and Ron, his voice laced with a hint of disdain. "They hired a half-giant."

"That's Hagrid," Harry explained, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "He's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. He's the one who brought me from my aunt and uncle's."

Hagrid, seemingly recognizing Harry's voice, turned and his bearded face broke into a wide grin. "Harry! There yeh are! Come on, then, get in a boat. No time ter dawdle!"

Hagrid guided the first years towards the boats, his booming voice echoing across the platform. "Four ter a boat! No more, no less! An' watch yer step gettin' in!"

Harry, Ron, and Marteen ended up sharing a boat with a nervous-looking boy with a stutter who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. As they pushed off from the shore, Harry felt a thrill of excitement course through him. The castle, which had seemed impossibly distant from the train platform, now loomed large before them, its silhouette stark against the darkening sky. Hundreds of twinkling windows illuminated the castle's many towers and turrets, casting a warm, inviting glow across the water.

Marteen, however, seemed unimpressed. He sat hunched in the bow of the boat, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the approaching castle.

"It's just a school," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the water against the boat's hull. "A big, fancy school full of silly rules and even sillier traditions."

Harry, caught between his own sense of wonder and Marteen's cynicism, wasn't sure what to say. He decided to focus on the castle, letting its grandeur wash over him, hoping that its magic might be strong enough to dispel the shadow of doubt that Marteen seemed determined to cast.

The boats glided across the black surface of the lake, the reflection of the starry sky shimmering around them. As they drew closer to the castle, its imposing facade seemed to grow even larger, until it felt like they were sailing towards a mountain of enchanted stone. Harry, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale and grandeur of Hogwarts. Even Ron, who had grown up surrounded by magic, seemed speechless, his gaze fixed on the approaching castle.

Marteen, however, remained unimpressed. He sat slumped in the bow of the boat, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing the castle for any sign of weakness. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the platform, his silence amplifying the air of brooding intensity that seemed to cling to him like a shadow.

Finally, the boats reached a hidden inlet beneath a towering cliff face, and Hagrid guided them towards a narrow, moss-covered stairway that seemed to disappear into the castle wall. As they disembarked, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, as if he were stepping into a place where the very air crackled with ancient magic.

Hagrid led them through a labyrinthine network of torch-lit corridors, their footsteps echoing on the cold stone floor. Harry, struggling to keep up with Hagrid's long strides, couldn't shake the feeling that they were descending deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle, towards some unknown destination.

At last, they reached a set of imposing oak doors, banded in iron and devoid of any ornamentation. Hagrid paused before the doors, his hand hovering over a simple iron knocker.

"Right then, Professor McGonagall's expectin' yeh," Hagrid rumbled, "She's the Head o' Gryffindor House, an' she'll be takin' over from 'ere."

He rapped three times on the door, and a moment later, one side swung inward with a creak. Standing in the doorway was a stern-looking witch with her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore emerald-green robes and a pair of spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of her nose.

"Thank you, Hagrid," the witch said, her voice crisp and authoritative. "I'll take it from here."

Hagrid nodded, his eyes twinkling as he caught Harry's gaze. "Good luck, Harry," he whispered, before turning and disappearing back down the corridor.

The witch surveyed the assembled first years, her expression unreadable. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the Entrance Hall. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. Before we proceed to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony, a few words."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the nervous faces of the first years. "For several centuries, Hogwarts has been the premier school of witchcraft and wizardry. Here, you will learn not only the intricacies of magic, but also the importance of discipline, responsibility, and respect for your fellow students."

Her gaze lingered for a moment on Marteen, who met her stare with an unflinching intensity. "The Sorting Ceremony is an important tradition," she continued, her voice unwavering. "The Sorting Hat will determine which house you belong to – Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. Your house will be your home for the next seven years, and I trust you will all conduct yourselves accordingly."

Professor McGonagall continued her introductory speech, outlining the expectations and consequences that came with being a student at Hogwarts. Harry listened intently, trying to absorb every word, while Ron fidgeted beside him, his gaze darting nervously around the Entrance Hall. Marteen, however, seemed utterly indifferent to the professor's words, his dark eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the far wall, as if he found the entire proceeding beneath his notice.

As Professor McGonagall spoke, a group of students detached themselves from the crowd and approached Harry, Ron, and Marteen. Two of them, larger boys with brutish faces, hung back slightly, while the one in front, a boy with slicked-back blond hair and a haughty expression, stepped forward.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" the blond boy said. It wasn't exactly friendly, but it wasn't hostile either. More like a statement of fact.

Harry, taken aback by the lack of the expected animosity, simply nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"Draco Malfoy," the boy said, extending a hand. "These are Crabbe and Goyle," he added, nodding towards his companions, who grunted in acknowledgement. "You'll want to be friends with us, Potter. We're practically royalty around here."

He looked at Ron, his lip curling slightly. "No offense, Weasley, but you lot never seem to have a Knut to rub together. We can help you navigate the finer things Hogwarts has to offer."

"Thanks, but I think I'll be alright," Harry said politely, but he made sure not to shake Draco's hand. He'd seen the way Draco had sneered at Ron, and he didn't want any part of that.

Ron's face flushed, not with anger this time, but with a mixture of embarrassment and resentment. Before he could respond, Marteen stepped forward, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge someone's worth based on their galleons, Malfoy," Marteen said, his voice low and menacing. "Some legacies are built on more than just gold."

The blond boy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And what might your legacy be then?" he asked.

"My name is Marteen Grindelwald," Marteen stated simply.

A hush fell over the nearby students. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged uneasy glances, and even Draco took a half step back, his face paling slightly. The name Grindelwald, even whispered, held a chilling weight to it.

Instead of recoiling, Draco's eyes widened with a strange sort of admiration. "Grindelwald," he breathed, his previous apprehension replaced with something akin to awe. "You are grandson of Gellert Grindelwald? My father always said he was a visionary, a true leader. He had the right ideas, even if…" He trailed off, as if realizing he was treading on dangerous ground.

He extended a hesitant hand towards Marteen. "It's an honor to meet you, Grindelwald. I'd be honored to call you… a friend."

Marteen didn't shake Draco's hand right away. "Depends," he said coolly. "Are you just look rich, Malfoy, or are you actually rich?"

Draco, momentarily taken aback by the blunt question, recovered quickly, a touch of arrogance returning to his voice. "My family," he declared, puffing out his chest slightly, "is rolling in Galleons, Grindelwald."

Marteen finally clasped Draco's hand in a firm shake. "Then friends it is," he said.

Professor McGonagall, sensing the growing commotion. "Everything alright here?" she asked.

"Yes, Professor," Draco said quickly, "Just making the acquaintance of our new classmates."

Professor McGonagall fixed them with a stern look, her gaze lingering for a moment on Marteen. "I trust you will all remember that respect and decorum are expected of all Hogwarts students, regardless of lineage," she said pointedly.

She then turned back to the rest of the first years. "Now, if you will all please form a line," she instructed, "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

As the first years shuffled into a semblance of order, Marteen leaned towards Draco, "Don't worry," he murmured. "We'll have plenty of time to discuss our shared heritage later. Away from prying eyes and meddling professors."

Draco, his confidence seemingly restored, returned the smirk. "Indeed," he whispered back. "Indeed."

"This is not good," Hermione whispered. She leaned closer to Harry and Ron, "Grindelwald and Malfoy? They're going to be trouble, I just know it."

Following Professor McGonagall's instructions, the first years shuffled nervously through the grand oak doors and into the Great Hall. Harry, momentarily blinded by the sudden shift from dimly lit corridor to dazzling brightness, blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his vision. As his eyes focused, he gasped, completely awestruck.

The Great Hall was more magnificent than anything he could have imagined. It was enormous, easily twice the size of the grandest building he'd ever seen in the Muggle world. Thousands of twinkling candles floated in mid-air, casting a warm, flickering glow over the four long tables where the rest of the students were already seated. But the most breathtaking sight of all was the ceiling – or rather, the lack of one. Harry craned his neck, gazing upwards, but there was no solid surface above, only a vast, velvety blackness that seemed to stretch on forever.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," Hermione whispered to Harry, noticing his wonder. "I read about it in 'Hogwarts: A History'. It's amazing, isn't it?"

Harry could only nod, speechless. He felt a thrill run down his spine, a mixture of excitement and anticipation. This was it. He was finally at Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall led the first years to a stool placed at the front of the hall. Resting upon the stool was a very old, patched, and extremely dirty wizard's hat. Harry noticed that it had a wide, floppy brim and a rather large tear near the base, as if someone had taken a bite out of it.

"Now, before we begin," Professor McGonagall announced, "Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words."

A ripple of excited whispers ran through the tables as an old wizard with a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles rose from his seat at the head table. He smiled warmly at the first years, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Welcome!" he boomed, his voice carrying clearly through the hall despite his age. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I'm sure you're all eager to be sorted into your houses, so I shall keep this brief. Just a few words of caution before we begin. Let me emphasize that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students. And should you feel the need to visit Mr. Filch, the caretaker, I would advise you to refrain from any activities that might be deemed… disruptive."

He winked, and a few students giggled nervously. "Now, without further ado, I believe the Sorting Hat is ready to perform its annual duty."

Professor McGonagall stepped forward once more, unrolling a long scroll of parchment. "When I call your name," she instructed, her voice regaining its usual briskness, "you will come forward and sit upon the stool. The Sorting Hat will then be placed upon your head, and it will determine to which house you belong."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the anxious faces of the first years. "Let the Sorting Ceremony commence!"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, her gaze scanning the parchment in her hand. "Abbott, Hannah!" she called out.

A plump girl with rosy cheeks nervously made her way to the stool, taking a seat as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. The hat seemed to pause, as if considering its options, before finally shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers as Hannah Abbott, beaming with relief, hurried over to join her new housemates. The Sorting Ceremony continued, each student taking their turn beneath the hat, their faces a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Draco Malfoy, who was standing near the front of the group of remaining first years, shifted impatiently, his arms crossed over his chest. He clearly felt he'd been kept waiting long enough.

As the names continued to be called, Marteen leaned over to Hermione, his hand lightly touching her shoulder. Hermione flinched slightly at the unexpected contact.

"So, tell me, Granger" Marteen said, "Which house are you hoping for? And why?"

Hermione, startled by the sudden question, hesitated for a moment. "Gryffindor, I suppose," she said, "It seems to be where all the brave and chivalrous wizards and witches end up."

She glanced nervously towards the Slytherin table. "Anywhere but Slytherin," she added, "I've read all sorts of terrible things about that house. They're all supposed to be dark and power-hungry."

"Power-hungry, you say?" he echoed, his gaze lingering on the Slytherin table for a moment. "Well, there's nothing inherently wrong with ambition. It's how you choose to use it that matters."

He turned back to Hermione, "But we'll see, won't we?" he said softly. "The hat has a way of seeing through facades. It'll be interesting to see where it puts you."

The Sorting Ceremony continued, each name called bringing a fresh wave of anxiety and anticipation to the remaining first years. Harry watched as more and more students were sorted into their respective houses, each selection greeted with cheers and applause from their new housemates.

"Brown, Lavender!" Professor McGonagall called out.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, after a moment of deliberation.

Lavender Brown, her face flushed with excitement, hurried over to the Gryffindor table, taking a seat next to a girl with a smattering of freckles across her nose. Harry recognized her from the train – she was the one who had fixed his glasses with a flick of her wand.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione took a deep breath, her eyes squeezed shut as if bracing herself for something momentous. She walked with a determined stride towards the stool, her bushy hair bouncing slightly with each step. The hat seemed to pause for an unusually long time on her head, as if engaged in a silent debate. Harry held his breath, wondering what house Hermione would end up in.

Finally, the hat made its decision. "GRYFFINDOR!" it bellowed.

Hermione, her face breaking into a relieved smile, practically skipped over to the Gryffindor table, taking a seat next to Lavender Brown. Harry couldn't help but grin – he had a feeling Hermione would fit in perfectly with the Gryffindors.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco, his chin held high, strode confidently towards the stool, barely pausing to let the hat touch his head before it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

There was a smattering of applause from the Slytherin table, but it lacked the genuine enthusiasm of the other houses. Draco, seemingly unconcerned by the lukewarm reception, sauntered over to join his housemates, his smirk suggesting that he already felt quite at home among the Slytherins.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Ron, his face pale and his ears burning red, stumbled towards the stool, his steps heavy with dread. He sat down gingerly, his eyes squeezed shut as the hat was placed upon his head. The hat seemed to pause for a moment, as if sensing his anxiety.

"Another Weasley," the hat muttered, its voice barely audible. "I know just what to do with you…"

Ron held his breath, bracing himself for the worst.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat finally roared.

Ron's eyes flew open, and a wave of relief washed over his face. He practically leaped off the stool and scurried over to the Gryffindor table.

The Sorting Ceremony continued, each name called seeming to echo louder and louder in Harry's ears. He watched as his fellow first years took their turns beneath the hat, their faces a mixture of relief, excitement, and in some cases, a touch of disappointment. He couldn't help but fidget, his nerves growing with each passing moment.

"Parkinson, Pansy!" Professor McGonagall called out.

"SLYTHERIN!" boomed the hat, and a girl with a sharp, pinched face swept over to join Draco Malfoy and his cronies.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He was one of the last few students remaining. He glanced at Ron, who was now seated at the Gryffindor table, his face a mixture of relief and concern as he watched Harry anxiously.

"Potter, Harry!"

The entire hall fell silent. Harry felt every eye upon him as he walked towards the stool, his legs feeling strangely heavy and unsteady. He sat down, his hands clenching into fists as Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head.

For a moment, there was nothing but darkness and the faint scent of musty old fabric. Then, a voice, seemingly coming from inside his head, whispered, "Hmm, difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"

Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. He had no idea what the hat was talking about, but he hung onto every word, desperate to know his fate.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" the hat's voice mused, seeming to echo Harry's own unspoken fear. "Are you sure? You could be great there. There's greatness in you, Potter, but also… a certain darkness. Ambition… yes, very much like your father…"

"No!" Harry thought desperately, gripping the edge of the stool. "Not Slytherin! Anywhere but Slytherin!"

"Not Slytherin?" the hat's voice echoed in his mind. "Are you sure? It's not easy to defy your blood, Potter. But if you're certain…"

The hat paused for a moment, then shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

A roar of applause erupted from the Gryffindor table, louder than any Harry had heard so far. He felt a surge of relief so profound it was almost dizzying. He pulled the hat off, his heart still pounding, and stumbled towards the cheering Gryffindors, a wide grin spreading across his face. He had done it. He was home.

The Great Hall was still buzzing with excitement from Harry's dramatic Sorting. He took a seat beside Ron at the Gryffindor table, his heart still pounding with adrenaline. He felt a hand clap him on the back, and turned to see a beaming Ron, his face flushed with excitement.

"Well done, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, grinning. "I knew you'd be a Gryffindor!"

Hermione, who was seated across from them, leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "That was amazing, Harry! I've never seen the hat take so long to decide!"

Harry, still slightly overwhelmed by the whole experience, simply nodded, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He had found his place, a place where he felt accepted, where he felt like he belonged. He glanced around the table at his new housemates, their faces a mixture of excitement and anticipation as they awaited the Sorting of the final few students.

Professor McGonagall, her expression unreadable, consulted the parchment once more. Only one name remained. "Grindelwald, Marteen," she announced, her voice clear and steady despite the sudden hush that had fallen over the hall.

All eyes turned towards Marteen, who stood alone at the front of the hall, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. A ripple of whispers, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, spread through the assembled students. The name Grindelwald carried a heavy weight, a legacy of both brilliance and darkness that seemed to cling to Marteen like a shadow.

Even the teachers at the head table seemed to stiffen, their gazes fixed on the lone figure standing before them. Dumbledore, his expression uncharacteristically grave, watched Marteen intently, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as if peering into the young man's very soul.

The tension in the air was palpable. Everyone waited, their breaths held in unison, for the Sorting Hat to make its decision. The fate of a young wizard, and perhaps even the fate of Hogwarts itself, seemed to hang in the balance.

All eyes were on Marteen as he strode confidently towards the stool, his gait measured and deliberate, his expression unreadable. He sat down, his back straight, his chin held high, and stared straight ahead as Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the rustle of robes and the soft murmur of whispers that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the Great Hall. Then, the hat twitched slightly, and a voice, older than time itself, echoed through the hushed chamber.

"Ah, Grindelwald," the hat rasped, its voice laced with a hint of weariness. "I've been expecting you. Power flows through you, that much is certain. Bravery too, of a sort. And ambition… oh yes, ambition that could light a thousand fires."

The hat shifted slightly on Marteen's head, as if peering deeper into his mind, its voice dropping to a low murmur. "But there is a darkness within you as well, a shadow that whispers of forbidden knowledge and a hunger for things best left untouched."

Marteen remained impassive, his expression giving nothing away. He met the hat's scrutiny with an unflinching gaze, his silence speaking volumes.

The hat seemed to sigh, a sound like rustling leaves and crackling flames. "You are a puzzle, Marteen Grindelwald," it murmured, its voice barely audible. "A tangled knot of potential and peril. Where to put you…"

The tension in the hall was almost unbearable. Every breath seemed to hang suspended in the air, every eye fixed on the lone figure seated upon the stool. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Sorting Hat made its decision.

"SLYTHERIN!" it boomed, its voice echoing through the stunned silence that followed.

A ripple of unease spread through the hall. At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy let out a whoop of triumph, clapping Marteen on the back as he joined him, their shared smirk a silent message of ambition and intent. Marteen, for his part, seemed neither surprised nor particularly pleased by the Sorting Hat's decision. He simply nodded curtly, a flicker of something cold and calculating flashing in his eyes as he met Draco's gaze.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged uneasy glances.

"This is bad," Ron whispered, "Really bad."

"I knew it," Hermione breathed, her forehead creased with worry. "There's something about him, Harry. Something… unsettling. And now he's in Slytherin, with Malfoy…"

Harry could only nod. He couldn't shake the feeling that Marteen's arrival at Hogwarts was no coincidence, and that the Sorting Hat's decision was only the beginning of something far more sinister.