Hogwarts (Year One) - Part 1

Sacred Morgan Children's Home, Bath, England. September 1, 1989.

Saying goodbye to everyone at the orphanage was definitely a bittersweet moment. Sister Taylor cried; Alex cried; Rose and Beatrice cried; I cried.

What had started out as a temporary pitstop—or worse, the garbage dump where my mom had abandoned me—had, over time, become something resembling a home. Even though people came and went, even though the Matron repeatedly emphasized that this wasn't a family, humans were surprisingly resilient when it comes to making the best out of a bad situation.

All in all, I couldn't say I was displeased with how my childhood had unfolded. Sure, it wasn't what I had expected—and it couldn't compare to my previous life—but it had its advantages nonetheless.

And while I couldn't completely discredit the unreplaceable role that magic played in my upbringing, I would never forget the strangers who'd become family. Screw what the Matron called it.

For me—soaking in the tears of my fellow orphans—blood would never be what defined family.

"You ready to go?" Father Beverley asked, closing the boot of his car.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I replied, tearing my eyes away from the sobbing children.

Especially Alex.

Needless to say, I hadn't forgotten about Victor and Vera either. After getting permission from their parents, I'd invited myself over for my own little goodbye party the day before. The twins had been pleasantly surprised—especially when they realized I'd brought cake. Though they didn't fully grasp what going to a boarding school meant, they definitely didn't like it when I explained I'd be gone for a long time.

Of course, I promised we'd exchange letters.

"Does that mean I need to buy an owl?"

The question was as amusing as it was concerning. What would I even do with an owl, apart from sending letters? How do you care for one properly? What does it eat? And how much does it even cost?

And while I couldn't shake the feeling that their parents found me a bit strange, I ultimately wasn't there for them, but for their adopted children.

It had, without question, been an emotional week.

…

The car ride to Bath Spa Station was one spent in comfortable silence. Father Beverley and I had already said everything that needed saying in the weeks leading up to my departure.

So it came as a surprise when he suddenly dropped the orphan-equivalent of an atom-bomb.

"You know, Michael," Father Beverley's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, "if I wasn't so sure you'd reject me, I would've offered to adopt you."

Dumbfounded, I didn't say anything.

Father Beverley chuckled.

"Come on, it can't come as that big of a surprise." He shook his head, still smiling faintly. "You're so capable for your age that you pretty much raise yourself already. In fact, it would hardly cost me a dime to do so. And since I'm already a disgraced priest with children as it is, what's one more going to do?"

"Why didn't you?" I asked—not in accusation, but genuine curiosity. "Why didn't you offer?"

"Like I said…" Father Beverley sighed. "I knew you'd reject me."

I looked out at the cars passing by. He wasn't wrong.

"Do you mind if I ask?" Father Beverley continued after a pause. "Why you never accepted any of the adoption proposals?"

I nearly lied. Nearly gave him some half-truth or easy answer. But instead, I told him the truth.

"It feels like a lie."

"Adoption, you mean?" Father Beverley asked gently.

I hesitated, then shook my head.

"Not adoption, per se." I furrowed my brows, searching for the words. "It's just… I don't know how I could ever be myself around a bunch of strangers. Would they still want me if I opened up and told them everything about who I am?"

The car fell quiet again. Only the hum of the engine and the sound of traffic filled the silence.

"Aren't you being yourself right now?" Father Beverley asked—but before I could respond, he continued.

"I'm not saying you're an easy child, Michael." He chuckled. "God knows you're not simple. I can't tell you how many nights I've stayed up thinking about the things you can do—your intellect, your maturity. You are blessed in more ways than you think."

I snorted out loud; I'd never had much patience for vague platitudes like that.

Again, the car turned awkwardly silent. If the Matron knew I'd just snorted in Father Beverley's presence, I'd be sitting stiff for a week straight.

"I know…" Father Beverley began again, more cautiously this time. "I know you've heard what some of the adults in our community say about you."

I froze, saying nothing. It wasn't exactly a secret—but no one ever talked to me about it either.

"Your many blessings, while awe-inspiring to some of us, can be frightening to others." The car stopped at a red light. "But only God knows why He created you the way He did."

He turned to look at me, but I couldn't find it in me to meet his eyes.

"I want you to know," he said softly, "that you're always welcome at St. John's, Michael. No matter what you hear, or what others may think, you're as much a child of God as anyone else."

"Would you still say that if you knew the truth, Father Beverley?" I thought to myself.

Yet, I nodded in response nonetheless.

When we arrived Bath Spa Station, Father Beverley helped me with my trunk.

"God, what did you put in this—bricks?!" He exclaimed as he set the oversized trunk down on the platform.

My turn didn't just hold my textbooks, supplies, and school attire—it also contained all of my research journals and notes. After packing those, I barely had enough room left for spare clothes.

It went without saying that my wand was kept close—very close. Ever since I'd received it, I'd carried it on my person without exception. I'd come to realize that the wand was more than just another catalyst for spark energy, or a simple focus for spellcasting. It was intricately connected to my spark—to my very essence.

When I closed my eyes, I could even faintly sense the direction at which it lay. The two of us—my wand and I—were connected in a way the former we could never have begun to comprehend. Despite the short time I'd had it, it already felt as much a part of me as my own hand.

That fascinated me.

It also concerned me.

Because ultimately, it wasn't a part of me. What happened if it broke? Or got stolen? Would it be like losing a limb—or a child? Would I ever feel something as magical again?

Naturally, that was another reason why I kept my eyes on it at all times.

The primary reason, though, was more practical: even though I was prohibited from using it to cast spells outside of Hogwarts, the wand helped me keep my magic under control. It acted like a sort of magical turnstile for my spark.

Or maybe it was more like a lightning rod?

Either way, I'd found that my spark wanted—but didn't need—to flow through the wand. If and when I lost control of my emotions, the wand had a way of helping me contain the figurative beast within.

"I'm afraid it's mostly books." I answered honestly, looking at the trunk I'd somehow have to drag all the way to Hogwarts.

"If only I could levitate it…"

The ironic thing was, I probably could—if I was allowed to use my wand.

"I'm not surprised," the priest chuckled.

For a moment, Father Beverley and I just stared at each other.

Compared to six years ago, he looked a lot older.

But then again… so did I. Though evidently still a child, I was no longer a five-year-old preschooler. As of a week ago, I was officially a bona fide eleven-year-old.

"Thank you." I said, gesturing to the car and the trunk.

"No thanks needed, son." Father Beverley smiled gently, then nodded toward the station entrance. "You know where to go, I presume?"

Naturally, I nodded.

"Of course you do." The jolly man laughed, ruffling my hair in way only one other person ever had.

Surprisingly, I found I both hated and loved the gesture in equal measure.

"I'll see you again for Christmas?" He asked, apparently having gotten the information from the Matron.

"That's the plan." I replied with a small smile. "Unless I change my mind later."

"God help this child." Father Beverley sighed playfully, shaking his head in exaggerated hopelessness.

At least I hoped it was exaggerated.

Waving goodbye to the good priest—who waved me off just as warmly—I pulled my trunk toward the waiting train heading east, toward London.

…

My cart was surprisingly full for an 8 a.m. train. Then again, I had no real frame of reference; I didn't typically take the train to London.

"Next time, I'll have to make a surprise visit to Jessica." I thought, remembering the older orphan I hadn't heard from in over a year. "It'd be nice to know how she's doing."

Needless to say, the two-hour ride was mind-numbingly boring. The newspaper I brought along lasted all of twenty minutes before I handed it to some old lady who kept side-eyeing me in suspicion.

The entire time I was reading it, I couldn't stop thinking about how much better it would be if the pictures moved. Which inadvertently led me to ruminate what kind of magic a permanent enchantment like that required.

In my pocket, I was discreetly turning a 10-pence coin into different colours. I'd already graduated from blue, red, and yellow—and was now mixing shades, creating a sort of rainbow effect. Whilst I could alter the coin's shape minutely, I wasn't yet confident enough to attempt reshaping something I couldn't see directly.

It went without saying that I did this without using my wand.

Still, with all the distractions around me, it made for a good place to practice transfiguration.

That's right—Transfiguration. Since I'd begun reading the first-year textbooks, I'd naturally learned what school of magic it was that I'd been instinctively practicing all this time.

Coincidentally, it just happened to be the subject Professor McGonagall taught at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, with all the people around me, I would have to rely on intuition rather than sight to gauge how effective my manifestations were. Still, much like a fidget spinner, it alleviated some of my boredom.

I arrived at King's Cross Station almost an hour before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to depart—tardiness having been beaten out of me multiple times already.

Unlike Bath Spa Station, King's Cross was very evidently the nucleus of a capital city. Everyone moved briskly, with the kind of purpose that made them look like they knew where they were going.

If I hadn't visited the famous station in a life prior to this one, I would've almost certainly gotten lost in the chaos.

Heck, even with my memories, I struggled to find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Needless to say, my lonesome figure drew more than a few concerned glances. A single eleven-year-old dragging a trunk nearly the size of himself without a guardian in sight? That was bound to raise eyebrows.

Luckily, I'd grown used to those stares by now. And the few well-meaning individuals who approached me were quickly disarmed by my confident demeanour and reassurances that I was fine.

After nearly twenty minutes of searching, I finally found myself standing before Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Like in the movies, my destination turned out to be an inconspicuous cobblestone pillar nestled between platforms nine and ten.

And, just as unexpectedly, I saw actual witches and wizards walk right through it—seemingly unbothered by the fact that normal people—Muggles—stood barely two meters away.

"An enchantment of some kind…" I mused, my interest piqued as I studied the pillar, and the invisible portal it concealed. "It's not invisibility, but rather… a redirection of people's attention? I wonder how the enchantment distinguishes between—"

"Fred! George!" A furious voice called from down the platform. "Don't you dare run through that barri-"

Two ginger-haired brats swept passed me so fast I nearly stumbled, darting straight toward the barrier.

Before I could fully register them, they were gone.

"Great! Just great!" Huffed a short, plump, red-haired woman complained as she hurried after them. Two younger children following in her wake—presumably Ron and Ginny Weasley.

As she passed by me, she offered a quick apology. "I'm sorry, dear—they are just excited."

Then she spun on her heels toward the younger children, her voice snapping with sharp maternal authority that gave me whiplash. "Ron! Ginny! Come along—we need to see your brothers off before they cause any more trouble!"

And just like that, the characters from the books vanished one by one, slipping through the barrier as if it were nothing.

"How could I have forgotten…" I sighed to myself. "Of course, those two troublemakers are in my year."

If anything, their loud and chaotic entrance only reaffirmed my growing conviction:

I was not going to end up in Gryffindor.

"Interesting…"

My eyes narrowed as I passed through the barrier. My spark stirred—noticeably—in response to the enchantment. It was rare for my magic to react to anything not of my own making, so when it did, it was hard to miss.

My first impression of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was that it was loud. The air brimmed with the chatter of concerned parents and excited students, and the platform itself was thick with steam.

Like King's Cross, the ceiling was arched high above us. The stone-paved platform was positively packed with people and carts, piled with everything from luggage to pets to owls in gilded cages.

And at the centre of it all stood the crown jewel of the platform.

The Hogwarts Express's gleaming red steam engine basked under the natural light, picturesque and striking. But what hit me first—aside from its beaty—was its sheer presence.

Presently, if someone told me the train had been enchanted to look more imposing, I wouldn't have hesitated to believe them.

"I'm sorry!" Someone gasped as they bumped into me.

Fortunately, the girl was not big enough to knock me over.

A student I didn't recognize stared up at me with wide, surprised eyes.

"No harm done." I said, waving her off.

The girl nodded quickly, clearly flustered, and scurried off—disappearing into the crowd almost as fast as she'd appeared.

"Maybe I should take that as a sign not to meander," I smiled mirthlessly to myself.

As I made my way onto the train, I caught sight of the Weasley family gathering near three other individuals—one of whom was a dark-haired boy about my age. They looked important, but I didn't recognize any of them.

The upside of boarding forty minutes before departure was that I quickly found an empty compartment. After attempting—and failing—to lift my heavy trunk into the overhead nook, I did what I'd been aching to do ever since Diagon Alley.

I withdrew my wand.

"Finally." My eyes gleamed as I stared at the beautiful chestnut wand. According to what I knew from the books, casting magic was tolerated—if not permitted—here.

Thus, without uttering a word, I flicked my wand at my trunk, willing it to rise into the overhead bin. It was my first time performing a spell with a wand, so I braced myself for failure.

Instead, I watched—barely breathing—as the nearly eighty-pound trunk levitated effortlessly into place. My cheeks began to ache from how hard I was smiling.

Despite the spell being several times stronger than my usual manifestations, it barely taxed my spark. I wouldn't. be surprised if I could repeat the spell a dozen more times before tiring.

"W-Wow," an unfamiliar voice stammered behind me.

I nearly jumped.

Turning around, I saw two girls standing in the doorway, staring at me with wide eyes—one of them the same clumsy girl who had bumped into me on the platform.

"Shit." I cursed inwardly. But I kept my expression calm, offering them a friendly smile despite my annoyance at being careless.

"Hello," I said, already cringing internally. "Ehm, are you perhaps looking for a compartment?"

"Well done, Michael, very smooth."

The girls exchanged a look I couldn't interpret, then nodded in unison.

"Y-Yes"

"T-Thank you."

Pulling their trunks inside—each with an owl cage attached—one of the girls, the bespectacled one I didn't recognize, spoke quickly.

"I-I have to go and get my cousin, i-is it fine if he sits her with us?"

I nodded, a little stiffly, and she ran off without waiting for a second answer.

"It's not like I own the compartment…"

Turning to look at the clumsy girl from the platform, I noticed her face had gone several shades paler, her eyes fixed on the now empty doorway.

"Are you okay?" I asked, a little concerned that the clumsy girl would suddenly faint or something. Imagine the reputation I'd accrue if the first thing someone did in my present was pass out. "You look ill."

Apparently, that was not the right thing to say to an eleven-year-old girl.

Her pale expression morphed from startled to indignant in the span of a heartbeat.

"What do you mean, I look ill?!"

I raised both my hands in the universal gesture of surrender and sighed internally.

"Great job, Michael. Absolutely impeccable."

…

"So?" I asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the trio's silent gawking. "Are we going to introduce ourselves or what?"

After the bespectacled girl returned with her cousin—who, to my growing consternation, appeared to be the dark-haired boy I'd seen earlier with the Weasleys—she'd practically begged me to help them with their luggage.

Even though I wasn't keen on letting my magical proficiency become public knowledge just yet, I figured it was fine to help them out this once—especially since they'd already seen what I could do with the levitation spell.

My decision to help, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I really, really wanted an excuse to do more magic with my wand.

And so, I levitated three more trunks into the overhead bins. Interestingly, lifting all three trunks simultaneously had been exponentially more draining than handling just one.

It wasn't until the spell concluded—under the dumbfounded scrutiny of my new companions—that I realized why they were so shocked.

In my rush to cast magic, I had completely forgotten to use the incantation Wingardium Leviosa. Instead, I had relied solely on my memory catalyst to cast the spell.

Still, I decided to pretend like I had no idea that what I had done was strange.

"Feign it till you make it," I reminded myself like a mantra.

"Ahem." The dark-haired boy recovered first, giving me a friendly. "Right, yes—we should probably introduce ourselves."

Clearing his throat again, he continued. "My name's Cedric Diggory." He gestured at the bespectacled girl. "This is my cousin, Eveline Thorne."

The girl in question nodded at me, albeit with an awkward smile.

"And this is—"

"Thalia Fawley." The clumsy girl—Thalia—cut him off, narrowing her eyes. "The ill girl."

"Look, I already apologized for that," I repeated, though it was clear she wasn't ready to let that one go just yet.

"Anyway," I sighed, shifting focus back to the group. "Pleasure to meet you Cedric, Eveline, and Thalia." I was secretly proud that I hadn't forgotten the girls' names already. "My name's Michael Morgan. Are you all first years as well?"

"Wait." Eveline interjected, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You're a first year too?"

I nodded slowly.

"Like, you mean start your first year today?"

Another nod, this one a bit more cautious.

"You mean you haven't already studied for, like, a year?"

"Please, Eve…" Cedric sighed, clearly embarrassed. "Can't you see you're being a nuisance?"

Just like that Cedric—like me—had managed to offend a girl before the train had even started rolling.

A promising start, really.

…

An hour later, the Hogwarts Express was officially moving. Once the initial excitement had worn off, the compartment settled into a comfortable rhythm of idle chatter and curious glances.

"So…" Thalia asked, eyes flicking toward me as I silently levitated a 10-pence coin. "You're good at magic?"

To my right, Cedric let out a quiet snort but wisely chose to not to comment. Across from him, Eveline turned her head and shot her cousin a withering glare.

"My levitation is decent, yeah." I admitted, hedging slightly as I kept my gaze on the floating coin.

I was at fourteen minutes—a new personal record.

"But why?" Eveline asked, now fully invested. Her eyes shifted from the coin back to me. "Why are you so good at levitation."

I nearly told her the truth automatically.

"Practice." But I couldn't say that—underage magic outside of a magical household was illegal. The last thing I wanted was to get expelled before I even reached the castle.

"Talent?" I offered instead, jokingly of course.

"Talent doesn't teach someone how to levitate stuff nonverbally and without proper wand movements." Thalia countered, her eyes glaring at me indignantly.

"Or maybe," I said, glancing at the irksome girl, "you just haven't met someone talented before?"

I turned to Cedric—the only one who hadn't yet accused me of war crimes. "No offense."

To my surprise, he raised a hand casually. "None taken."

Thalia, however, looked positively scandalized.

"This girl desperately needs to learn how to control her emotions," I thought, just as I commanded the coin to spin in the opposite direction. It wobbled, hovered uncertainly for a moment—then dropped as I lost concentration.

But this was hardly the first time a lapse in concentration ruined a manifestation.

In fact, it happened so often that I'd long since stopped flinching when something clattered to the ground. Frustrating as it was, it served as a brutal reminder: finesse without focus meant nothing.

"Fifteen minutes." I muttered, glancing at the clock. "And around sixteen seconds… I'll need to jot that down in my journal later."

As soon as I got to Hogwarts, I would start a new one—dedicated entirely to wand magic.

Needless to say, the thought alone made me extremely excited.

"You're very arrogant, you know," Thalia suddenly said, her tone sharp. "I have never even heard of the name Morgan before. Where exactly is your family from?"

"I don't have one." I replied, opening up a first-year coursebook about magical fauna and flora.

"You don't have a what?" Eveline asked, brows furrowing.

"A family." I repeated unperturbed. As an orphan, this wasn't the first time I'd fielded that question—and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Over the years, I'd learned not to take it personally. It was a simple faux pas, not something worth getting hung up on.

So I wasn't overly surprised when silence descended on the compartment like a dropped curtain.

I was, however, surprised when no one said anything—even after two whole minutes had elapsed.

Sighing, I closed my book. Since I had partly caused the awkwardness, I figured I might as well take the first step to resolve it.

"I'm not offended, if that's what you're thinking," I said, glancing at the two girls—both of whom were fidgeting slightly in what I assumed was discomfort and shame.

"I'm an orphan. Have been for most of my life." I continued, speaking plainly. While I still retained a few scattered memories of my parents from this life, I place far more value on the last six years—on everything I'd experienced since my memory returned.

Maybe that wasn't entirely fair to my parents—but I wasn't going to go into a discussion about fairness with them anyhow.

"I'm so sorry…" Eveline apologized, offering me a timid, apologetic smile. "I didn't know."

"Of course." I gave a small shrug. "It's a common mistake, no need to dwell on it."

"But—" Thalia blurted, eyes widening in realization and surprise. "If you're an orphan, does that mean you're a—"

"Thalia!" Cedric cut in sharply, his voice far more serious than before. "Don't."

"No, no, no…" I raised my hands to show I wasn't offended—truth be told, I was more curious than anything else. "What were you going to ask, Thalia?"

The black-haired girl glanced briefly at her two friends—seemingly seeking their approval—before turning back to me. Lowering her head, she whispered:

"Does that mean you're a magbob?"

Next to me, Cedric let out a groan of frustration. But I barely noticed. I was too hung up on the unfamiliar term.

"What's a magbob?" I echoed, looking at Thalia with a raised eyebrow.

For some reason, the young witch was scarlet red in the face.

"It's an old word," Cedric cut in, somehow annoyed on my behalf. "For a Muggle-born wizard or witch. Hardly anyone normal uses it anymore. Most people just say Muggle-born."

When I didn't react, he continued, a bit more reluctantly this time.

"It's supposed to be an endearing term for someone who doesn't know much about magic or wizarding customs."!

"Ah…" I nodded slowly, the awkwardness thick in the air. "That explains the reactions."

"But obviously," Cedric shot a glare at Thalia, "you're not clueless."

"I wouldn't say I know a lot…" I replied thoughtfully. "In fact, if you three are indeed from wizarding families, I bet you know a lot more about magic than I do."

I shook my head softly.

"All I can really do is some minor parlour tricks," I admitted—then paused, a thought suddenly striking me. If my levitation had grown so much stronger with a wand, then surely my… Jedi push had improved too.

Unfortunately, the cramped compartment was hardly an ideal testing ground.

"Oh! Then we can teach you!" Eveline blurted out brightly, tugging Thalia's sleeve as her excitement grew. "I mean, not to brag or anything, but all three of us come from pretty notable families."

"N-Not that you'd know about us, of course," she added quickly. "You know, being a Muggle-born."

"That's cool!" I said, only exaggerating slightly. I was curious about the differences between Muggle-born and Pure-blood wizards. As elitist as it all sounded, there had to be some reason—besides vanity—why wizarding society placed so much value on pure-bloods.

And if that reason translated into real magical advantages… well, then I wanted to know everything about it.

"R-Right!" Eveline perked up, tugging harder on her friend's sleeve. "Thalia's even from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!"

I raised an eyebrow, trying to recall what exactly the Sacred Twenty-Eight were.

Misinterpreting my silence as ignorance, however, Eveline hurried to explain.

"A-Ah! R-Right! The Sacred Twenty-Eight are—"

"P-Please, Eve. Just stop already." Thalia cut in, her face as red as a tomato as she silenced her friend with a glare. "My family is hardly in any position to go around broadcasting ourselves as one of the Twenty-Eight."

"Pardon." I interjected, cautious not to offend. "But what are the Sacred Twenty-Eight exactly?"

This time, I directed the question at Thalia, who seemed the more informed of the two.

She hesitated only briefly before replying. "The Sacred Twenty-Eight are the oldest pure-blooded wizarding families in Britain…" Her face was almost the same shade as my wand now—which I found oddly endearing. "They are considered powerful. Or… at least most of them are. My family hasn't been important in forever."

"Don't say stuff like that." Eveline blurted, nudging her friend supportively. "Powerful or not, you're still one of the Sacred families!"

"How about you two?" I asked, turning to Eveline and Cedric in an effort to spare poor Thalia further discomfort. "Are you also from the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

Cedric snorted and was the first to reply.

"Hardly," he scoffed, sounding distinctly unimpressed by the notion. "My dad works for the Ministry and my mum… well, she passed away a few years ago."

Noticing the sudden stiffness between Eveline and Cedric, I closed my book gently, drawing their attention.

"I'm sorry to hear that." I said, trying my best to sound sincere. "I know what it's like to lose a parent."

Cedric offered a forced smile a smile but didn't seem eager to talk about the subject.

When I looked at Eveline, I noticed she'd gone unusually quiet as well.

"It's not like we have to keep talking about our families if it makes you uncomfortable," I offered, prudent about steering the conversation somewhere more welcome.

"No, it's fine." Eveline replied, her smile more genuine than strained. "If you and Cedric can share private stuff, then I can too."

I opened my mouth to protest—it wasn't a competition—but she spoke before I could say anything.

"Cedric's mum was my aunt," Eveline explained. "She married Cedric's dad, Amos, when I was little. My family isn't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but we're nearly as old. Still, we don't have the same influence or recognition." She scratched the back of her head, clearly unsure how much to share. "I've got a mum and dad, and an older sister who's already at Hogwarts."

"Oh really?" I asked, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. "That's neat. What house is she in?"

"Maria's in Hufflepuff!" Eveline said brightly. "She's in her fourth year, so she's, like, really powerful."

"Wow." I said, genuinely pleased by the turn in conversation. "I bet fourth years know all sorts of interesting magic." I was definitely fishing.

And just like that, hours passed as the train steadily puffed northward toward Hogsmeade and the Scottish Highlands. Occasionally, our conversations would peter out, giving me time to observe the beautiful scenery sweeping past our compartment window.

When the trolley lady appeared, Thalia enthusiastically splurged on an assortment of enchanted sweets, which quietly debunked her earlier portrayal of her family's humble status.

Still, sharing magical treats with Cedric, Thalia, and Eveline was surprisingly fun. At some point, I realized I'd stopped pretending to care about their conversations—I was actually enjoying myself. Genuinely.

Inviting them to share the compartment, though accidental, had turned out to be one of the best decisions I'd made all day. From what they'd said about some of the other first-years, I reckoned I could've ended up with much worse company.

Also, it had to admit it felt comforting to know I wouldn't be stepping into Hogwarts completely alone. Even I—someone who could happily spend a week holed up with a textbook—wasn't immune to the appeal of familiar faces.

"Then again…" I mused inwardly, "imagine how much uninterrupted research could be conducted as a hermit."

When dusk began to fall outside, Eveline suggested we change into our school uniforms. We took turns standing guard outside the compartment while the others changed, the whole process unfolding with a blend of awkwardness and childlike cooperation.

Dressed in my plain first-year uniform—a white shirt beneath a grey sweater, all tucked under a black robe—I studied my reflection in the window.

No house colours. No crest. Nothing to distinguish me from the rest of the new arrivals. Yet.

"That's soon going to change." I thought, my gaze still fixed on the faint silhouette in the glass. The Sorting Ceremony loomed closer with every minute.

It occurred to me then that, most likely, we'd be separated. I already knew cedric would be sorted into Hufflepuff—thanks to memories I wasn't supposed to have—but as for Thalia and Eveline, I had no clue.

In fact, the more I spoke with them, the more I realized how limited my so-called canon knowledge actually was. Sure, I remembered big events, names, major beats—but I hadn't even known the Fawleys were part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Heck, I could barely list four of the twenty-eight families from memory.

Which begged the question, what else didn't I know?

During the train ride, it'd dawned on me that I wasn't starting my year at Hogwarts with some handy magical cheat code in hand. At least until the canon started, my memories were almost completely useless.

Which meant I had a ticking clock hanging over my head.

Two years. That was all the time I had to gain an edge. To establish myself. To carve a place in this world before he arrived—the boy-who-lived, and with him, the storm known as Voldemort.

When the train finally screeched to a halt at our destination, the air inside the compartment crackled with anticipation. Chatter rose to a fever pitch as doors opened, and students spilled out in waves.

Even I wasn't immune to the excitement coursing through the crowd.

A booming voice cut through the crisp night air, deep and commanding.

"First-years! First-years gather 'round over 'ere!"

The voice naturally belonged to a man so massive he might as well have been a walking hill. Rubeus Hagrid. The Groundskeeper at Hogwarts.

If anything, the books and films had understated just how enormous the half-giant's frame was.

Walking up to him felt like approaching a very hairy hill. A very intimidating hill who looked like it could flatten you if it tripped.

Needless to say, I couldn't take my eyes off him. Hagrid was a specimen—a unit—that defied what should've been anatomically possible.

"I suppose that's why he's half-human," I thought. Not exactly something polite to say to someone's face, though.

Looking around, I saw I wasn't alone. Just about every first-year had gone silent, staring up at Hagrid in awe.

Once the gawking had settled, Hagrid lit the way to the jetties where our ceremonial boats awaited. The trek down took longer than I expected, and I spent most of it dragging my oversized truck like a sack of cursed rocks.

More than once, I was this close to levitating the damned thing.

Consequences be damned.

Still, I gritted my teeth and endured. Fame was a double-edged sword. And right now, I preferred not drawing undue attention to myself—at least not yet.

Sure, accidentally showing off to three fellow students in a cramped train compartment was one thing.

But floating a massive trunk through the hair while hiking down a torch-lit path?

That would make me stick out like a sore thumb. And not in a good way.

Even so, it was hard to shake the itch—the urge to just use magic to solve a problem. I mean, wasn't that the whole point of having magic in the first place?

When we finally reached the boats and began crossing the Black Lake, any lingering frustration gave way to awe.

Hogwarts rose in the distance like something pulled from a dream—or a book. Towering spires pierced the starlit sky, their windows glowing like golden fireflies. The castle shimmered in the dark, a monument of magic and history.

It was… breathtaking.

And yet, beneath that beauty, I felt a distinct prickle of dread.

Because I'd made the mistake of reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them already.

New Scamander had dedicated an entire chapter to the Black Lake's fauna. As a former Hogwarts student, he clearly thought it necessary to document every horrific detail of what lurked beneath the deceptively calm surface.

And now, knowing far too much about tentacled horrors and flesh-hungry kelpies, I sat in our little boat, praying none of them were hungry tonight.

Still, watching my peers' innocently awestruck eyes stare at the approaching castle, I chose to not divulge what I knew about the lake. It would just serve to ruin the atmosphere.

Fortunately, the boat ride was over pretty quickly, and we were asked to disembark while leave our luggage by the dock. Apparently, the house elves would take care of it. Once we were sorted into our houses, the luggage would be transported to our new common room.

No one asked Hagrid why the elves couldn't have retrieved our luggage before the long trek down from Hogsmeade. Heck, only a bare few of the students had any visual reaction to the prospect of there even being elves at Hogwarts. Evidently, the existence of house elves at Hogwarts was already well established by anyone with a magical upbringing.

Interestingly, I discovered that some of the first-years distinctly distanced themselves from those who hadn't appeared to know about the house elves. Even among children, prejudice was prevalent, and ignorance was disdained.

Which made the relationship I'd established with Cedric, Thalia, and Eveline feel all the more precious in comparison.

Hagrid walked with us to the big stairway leading to the Great Hall before he summarily waved us off.

While most of the children immediately bolted up the stairs—Thalia and Eveline included—I took my sweet time walking alongside Cedric.

We walked in silence, me studying the impressive architecture and decorative details of the stairs, Cedric, thinking about whatever it is eleven-year-old boys typically think about, I suppose.

When we reached the entrance to the Great Hall, I was pleasantly surprised to see Professor McGonagall again.

But if the professor recognized me, she didn't show any sign of it.

The tall professor cleared her throat only once, yet the disorderly first-year students quickly hushed.

"Welcome to Hogwarts everyone," Professor McGonagall started, her stern eyes sweeping over the gathering—including me. "Today, the start-of-term banquet will be celebrated in the Great Hall behind me. But before you may take your seats amongst your peers, you must first be sorted into your houses."

"The Sorting Ceremony is an entrenched tradition here at Hogwarts and while you're here, your house will be like your family. All classes will be held together with your housemates; you will sleep in your house dormitory; and spend most of your free time in your house common room."

Professor McGonagall proceeded to tell me stuff I already knew.

"The four houses at Hogwarts are in no particular order: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each of the four houses has a long history of producing exceptional witches and wizards…"

Then, Professor McGonagall expounded on the importance of earning house points and following the rules here at Hogwarts. Needless to say, the school's collective punishment method would be very effective against children.

When she mentioned the house cup, I saw several of my peers' eyes gleam in excitement. Though I never really understood the significance of winning a house cup in my previous life, I had never been much of for competition.

"If you have any questions, they will be answered by your house prefect. That's it. I suggest you smarten yourself up. The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily."

And with that, Professor McGonagall departed, leaving the crowd of eleven-years alone.

Needless to say, the chatter erupted immediately.

"I'm so nervous…" Eveline muttered, her hands fidgeting as she stared at the prestigious gate we'd soon enter. "What if I'm not put in Hufflepuff?"

Someone to the side scoffed at her words, before needlessly adding their prejudiced views.

"Hufflepuff? You actually want to be sorted into that house of wimps?" A boy with messy brown hair shook his head in disgust. "I'd probably drop out if I was placed in Hufflepuff."

"No, you wouldn't." Thalia didn't hesitate to defend her friend. "No one's stupid enough to drop out of Hogwarts."

Thalia's sharp, hawk-like eyes swept over the brown-haired boy as if she was gauging his worth. "Then again, you might be the exception."

A couple of students giggled, and a few ooohhh'd in response to Thalia's ruthless dress down.

Only the ones familiar with her knew of how sharp her tongue could be.

"You little—" The brown-haired boy paused, his eyes widening as he recognized my black-haired acquaintance. "You're Thalia Fawley." He said. It wasn't a question.

"Thalia Fawley?"

"Wait, she's the Fawley Genius?"

"A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight…"

Thalia's nose wrinkled in visible annoyance as the first-years began whispering around us. By now, Thalia—and, in extension, the rest of our group—had officially become the centre of attention.

"Thalia!" Fred and George Weasley waved excitedly from the crowd. "Oh, and Ceddy! You're here too!"

Surprisingly, I noticed I wasn't the only one who winced when the Weasley twins approached. Cedric seemed to be intimately familiar with Fred and George's antics already.

"Then again…" I thought about what I could remember from the movies. "Weren't their parents friends or something?"

"Ceddy?" I mouthed silently to the dark-haired boy in question, who was now sporting a frown on his face.

Before Fred, George, or the resentful brown-haired boy could do anything, however, Professor McGonagall returned, looking a bit stressed.

"Follow me." Was all she managed to say before the double-doors leading into the Great Hall began to rumble in telltale sign of opening.

Suddenly, everything else was temporarily forgotten as, without a single exception, everyone focused on the Great Hall before them.

Golden plates, goblets, and refined cutlery adorned the four long tables stretching along the Great Hall. Above, thousands upon thousands of levitating candles drifted, illuminating the starry night sky and the dark clouds that obscured them.

Many of the first-years ooohh'd and aaahhh'd as their eyes darted around the magnificent chamber.

Even I had to pick up my jaw from the floor. I'd prepared myself, of course, but seeing something in a movie and experiencing it first-hand were two different things entirely.

Feeling thousands of eyes sweep over me, my old insecurity couldn't help but to rear its ugly head.

"Great." I mumbled internally. "I thought I'd gotten over this already." I furrowed my brows at my unruly emotions. Fortunately, with my wand attached to my hip, I didn't need to worry about any accidental magic.

After leading us to the front centre of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall stepped aside, revealing the long table of professors staring down at us from a slightly elevated platform.

Many of my peers squirmed under their scrutiny.

I preoccupied myself by trying to deduce who the professors were based on their physical appearance.

Naturally, I recognized the Potions Master almost immediately. With his hooked nose, sallow skin, and greasy black hair, Severus Snape's appearance matched his literary description to an unnerving degree.

Professor Flitwick was another easy find—his diminutive stature and pronounced facial hair made him stand out among the seated staff.

Then, of course, there was Professor Sprout, looking every bit the herbology enthusiast she was reputed to be, and Hagrid, whose presence was impossible to miss.

I also noticed that loony-looking divination professor whose name I could never remember.

Madame Hooch and Madam Pomfrey appeared to also be present as well, though I couldn't confidentially identify either with full certainty.

Beyond the familiar-ish faces, however, were several who caught me off guard.

One of them was a pale, strikingly young man with an abundance of thick, glossy hair. I'd have been genuinely shocked to learn he was older than I'd been before reincarnation.

Then came seven more figure I didn't recognize at all: a ghost seated near the staff table (was that normal?), a stern-looking older woman, a black witch with commanding posture, a gentle-eyed woman, a bookish lady scribbling something down, an eccentric man covered in what looked like claw marks, and a tall, dark-haired wizard missing an ear.

Despite combing through my memories, I couldn't recall a single professor ever being describe as one-eared. The ghost did feel vaguely familiar. But his name and subjected escaped me. As for the rest, they were total mysteries.

Finally, it went without saying that, sitting in the middle of the prestigious gathering, was none other than the fabled Albus Dumbledore. Even seated, the kindly old man radiated quiet power and wisdom.

Like Professor McGonagall, his eyes were piercing—bright with intelligence and a strange sort of amusement as he studied the first-years shuffling nervously before him.

It didn't take more than a glance to determine that this wasn't you're average, senile grandpa.

When the Dumbledore rose from his seat, the headmaster only had to clear his throat once before the Great Hall promptly went silent.

"Welcome everyone, to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin the start-of-term banquet, I would like to say a few words."

Half of me expected him to say something silly, so I was surprised when Professor Dumbledore turned towards the one-eared man instead.

"Allow me to introduce the newest member to our staff, Professor Crowe." The Headmaster gestured towards the black-haired man, who stood up and nodded at the crowd of curious students. "Professor Crowe will take over the position of Defends Against the Dark Arts Professor from Professor Moorhart, who unfortunately has personal matters to attend and won't be able to continue in her employment with us."

When the professor who I presumed was Madame Hooch suddenly coughed in suspicious timing, I knew there was more to the story than that.

"Professor Crowe is, however, well suited for the position and we're glad to have him with us."

Again, polite applause ensued—many students turned to glance at Professor Snape.

"Now, on to more exciting things!" The Headmaster turned towards us—the first-years.

Clearing her throat, Professor McGonagall took over as the Headmaster sat down again.

"When I call your name, you will place the hat on your head and take a seat to be sorted." She said, gesturing towards the stool with an old hat resting on top of it.

Honestly, the ceremony was awful. What kind of deranged lunatic thought it would be a good idea to parade new students in front of the entire school—just to be scrutinized, judged, and sorted while every student and professor looked one?

Without any more ramble, Professor McGonagall looked at her list and crisply announced.

"Ashwell, William!"

The nervous boy was summarily sorted into Gryffindor, whose members screamed so loudly in celebration that I almost had to cover my ears.

The Sorting Ceremony marched on as Professor McGonagall went through the first-years in alphabetical order.

Needless to say, I didn't expect to recognize anyone summoned to the stool until Diggory was called. Hence, I was somewhat surprised when I registered the faintly familiar name "Davies, Roger" be called.

The boy strode up to the Sorting hat with a surprising amount of swagger in his stride. Therefore, I presumed he would be sorted into Gryffindor. Thus, imagine my surprise when the sorting hat announced "Ravenclaw" instead.

I watched the pleased boy hop to his new house—who greeted him with a warm albeit polite welcome. Suddenly, I remembered who he was.

Roger Davies was the lucky teen who'd one day take Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball—six years from today.

After Davies was sorted, it didn't take long before it was Cedric's turn.

Even at the tender age of eleven, Cedric's handsome appearance sparked a notable amount of chatter from the student body taking stock of the proceedings.

But like with everyone else, the Great Hall turned completely silent when he put on the hat.

A few seconds later, the Hufflepuff table roared in celebration as a new member entered their midst.

I couldn't help but to notice how nervous Eveline got after her cousin was sorted.

"Don't worry." I whispered, trying to comfort the poor girl. "I'm sure the sorting hat will take your preference into consideration."

Eveline nodded hesitantly but otherwise remained as pale as a sheet of paper.

A few students later, and it was Thalia Fawley's turn to become the centre of attention.

Like with Cedric and a few others, Thalia's appearance caused quite the stir. But I reckoned it was mostly due to her status as a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

"Ravenclaw!" The sorting hat announced loudly. Thalia looked completely unperturbed as she advanced towards the table of her new house; but I knew from our earlier conversation that she'd gotten what she'd wanted.

Before long, it was my turn to walk up to the Sorting Hat. Unsurprisingly, the name "Morgan, Michael" elicited little to no reaction from the observing witches and wizards.

Still, with thousands of eyes observing my every movement, I took my seat on the stool.

I did my best to ignore the sea of faces and firmly placed the hat on my head.

"…"

"…"

"W-Well?" I whispered awkwardly when the old thing refused to speak. "What's the verdict?"

"Child…" The hat's voice echoed in my mind, low and gravelly—like a thirty-something biker uncle from my last life. "What happened to you?"

I sighed, lowering my head.

"Shit."

Needless to say, the hat and I spoke at length in the privacy of my mind. It didn't take long for the ancient artefact to pick up on my peculiarities—though, thankfully, from its questions, it seemed incapable of accessing any memories from my previous life.

Small victories.

"Are you even allowed to dig this much into someone's memories?!" I finally snapped, feeling more and more exposed with every prying question about my childhood. Of all the things I'd expected today, being psychoanalyzed by a sentient hat hadn't made the list.

"…"

"Well???" I pressed. "Are you?!"

"…It's quite common for a few memories to be read during the Sorting Process…" The hat answered hesitantly; but I knew I was on to something,

"A few?! What you're doing goes way beyond a few!" I hissed. "Is the school seriously okay with you trawling through the private thoughts of minors?"

The more I thought about what the stupid hat had done to me, the more furious I became.

"…"

Again, the Sorting Hat remained suspiciously quiet.

"Okay, listen…" I took a deep breath, acutely aware of whispering students and professors around me.

"This is what's going to happen now."

"You're going to sort me into Ravenclaw."

"Then you're going to forget everything you saw."

"But—"

"Or I swear to God," I cut in sharply. "I will tell the professors, every parent, every bloody Wizengamot member I can find that the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts has been casually violating the privacy of eleven-year-old children."

"…"

"Oh, and I'll even throw in the Daily Prophet for good measure. Can't imagine what the headlines would be."

"…"

"One more thing, I wonder what the Wizengamot will think," I threatened. "When they learn that their scions' secrets are laid bare to a bloody hat on their first day of school."

"Okay fine, fine." The Sorting Hat sounded genuinely alarmed. "You've made your point, kid. No need to go that far. I was just a bit curious, that's all. No harm meant. I'll keep your secrets."

Knowing that I had the artefact where I wanted it, I pushed a bit further.

"And you're going to teach me everything you know about Legilimency." I added.

"Now that I can't—"

"You will teach me," I visualized Thalia helping me pen the letters, imagining the outraged howlers delivered to the school. I even imagined the Sorting Hat—shredded into strips—being used to decorate the covers of my journals.

"Oh jeez… fine, I agree!" I could feel the hat wince on my head. "But—seriously—are you sure you don't want to be in Slytherin? I feel you would fit right in with—"

"Ravenclaw." I repeated.

The hat sighed. "Whatever you say…"

"Ravenclaw!"

…