HP: Ashborn

Sorry! Ladies and Gentlemen. My editor did a shitty job and did not edit this chapter correctly. I apologise for his incompetence and will make sure It doesn't happen again.

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Finally, Hagrid cleared his throat—loudly—shaking himself out of his flustered state. "Ahem! Er—thanks, Max. That was… real nice." He rubbed the back of his neck before quickly changing the subject. "Alright now—Firs' years! Over here! This way!"

And just like that, the crowd snapped back to reality as Hagrid resumed gathering the students.

Jasmine, however, was still looking at me with curiosity.

While all this was going on, I suddenly heard a voice behind me.

"See that, Gred—"

"—Absolutely, my less handsome twin."

"What a charming flatterer—"

"Charming indeed. He's already managed to charm Hagrid—"

"—And Jasmine."

"AND JASMINE! How did this happen?"

I turned around to face them, already having a good idea of who they were. Identical redheads, mischievous grins, an air of pure chaos radiating off them—it wasn't exactly a mystery.

"Twins. Red hair. Freckles. General aura of chaos. Weasleys, I presume?" I said with a smirk. "Would I be correct in assuming you're Fred and George Weasley?"

Their eyes lit up with exaggerated delight.

"HOH! Did you hear that, Forge? We're famous!"

"Indeed, indeed, Gred! But how did he know us?"

I turned to the one who asked and, with a teasing grin, replied, "That, dear George, is for me to know and you to find out."

The twin I addressed raised an eyebrow. "I'm Fred."

I smirked. "Nope. You're the less handsome one, so obviously, you're George."

George's jaw hit the floor as Fred and Jasmine burst into laughter.

"How did you figure that out?" George finally sputtered.

"Figure what out?" I asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

"That I'm George and he's Fred!"

I grinned. "Oh, I didn't. You just confirmed it for me."

His eyes widened in realization. "Wait—WHEN?"

Classic. The ol' "make them think you know something until they prove you right" trick. Works every time. At least with idiots who think they are smartest in the room

I gestured for them to lean in conspiratorially. The moment they did, I suddenly raised my voice so the entire room could hear:

"That, dear twins, is for me to know and you to find out!"

Laughter erupted around us. Even Hagrid let out a booming chuckle. George groaned, burying his face in his hands, while Fred clapped me on the back, looking positively gleeful.

"Oh, I like this one," Fred said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "Max, was it? You, my friend, might just be another Marauder in the making!"

Jasmine caught that sentence, rolled her eyes but smiled. "He's already unbearable. Do not encourage him."

Too late.

The entire exchange left everyone grinning, while the twins especially George—having been outsmarted twice in a row—was left flustered, much to everyone's amusement. But before they could launch a counterattack, Hagrid's booming voice cut through the laughter.

"All first years here? Good. Everyone, follow me!"

And just like that, we were off, following the half-giant down to the shores of the Black Lake.

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid called out.

I was the first to hop into one, followed by Jasmine, and then two other girls joined us, completing our group.

As we set off across the lake, the four of us sat in silent awe, taking in the breathtaking surroundings. The stillness of the water, the eerie mist rolling over the surface, the soft glow of lanterns reflecting off the waves—it was nothing short of magical.

Our moment of quiet wonder, however, was rudely interrupted by none other than the Weasley twins.

They had apparently decided that sitting still was too much to ask, and their boat rocked violently with every exaggerated movement. Gasps and shrieks filled the air as they flailed about—until finally, by some miracle (or sheer luck), they managed to steady themselves before capsizing entirely.

Typical.

And then, at long last—finally… finally… a million times finally—I saw her.

The Magnificent Lady Hogwarts.

The castle stood tall and proud, its turrets and towers bathed in the moon's glow, an undeniable aura of grandeur and history radiating from its very walls. The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine—not of fear, but of sheer awe.

The girls in our boat squealed with delight, voicing the amazement I was feeling internally. I, however, kept my reaction composed, choosing instead to mentally review every single detail, committing it to memory with the help of Occlumency.

Unfortunately, our boat ride ended all too soon as we reached the shore. Stepping onto solid ground once more, I fell in step with Jasmine as we followed Hagrid up toward the massive main entrance of the castle.

Standing at the entrance was a professor I hadn't seen in a long time. As we approached, I inclined my head slightly in a silent bow of greeting.

She responded with a nod and a small smile.

Eventually, all the first-years gathered, and Hagrid handed us over to the waiting professor. She acknowledged him with a curt nod before addressing us in a firm, no-nonsense tone.

"Thank you, Hagrid, for bringing the first years."

Her sharp gaze swept over the group, assessing each of us with the kind of authority that made even the most restless student stand straighter.

"For those who do not know me, I am Minerva McGonagall, Vice-Headmistress of Hogwarts. I am also the Transfiguration professor and the Head of Gryffindor House for those who will be sorted into it."

She paused briefly, allowing the weight of her words to settle over us. Every eleven-year-old present hung onto her every word—whether out of awe or sheer intimidation was anyone's guess.

Then, in the same clear, commanding voice, she continued,

"I welcome you all to Hogwarts. In just a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you can take your seats, you must first be sorted into your houses through the Sorting Ceremony. The houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—each with a long and storied history."

Her eyes flickered over the crowd, ensuring every student was paying attention before pressing on.

"While you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points; your misdeeds will cost you points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup."

Another pause. Silence stretched across the hall as her words sank in. There was something about her presence—an unshakable aura of discipline and wisdom—that commanded respect from everyone standing before her.

I found myself watching her with a sense of admiration. Now this was a professor who deserved it.

I was quietly observing my surroundings when I felt a small nudge from the side. Turning, I saw Jasmine, her expression tinged with unease.

"You sure about how they sort people?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing…" She hesitated, then leaned in slightly. "It's just… people are saying we might have to fight Hippogriffs. And, well… they didn't sound like they were joking."

I blinked. Then, without missing a beat, I smirked. "Well, you're a Potter, which starts with P. I'm an Ashborn, which starts with A. So I'll be up before you." I gave her a mock-serious look. "If I survive the Hippogriffs, I'll let you know how it goes."

Jasmine did not look amused.

Before she could respond, our thoughts were interrupted by Professor McGonagall's firm voice cutting through the whispers around us.

"Now form a line and follow me."

Still slightly dazed, we—being the obedient, innocent little sheep that we were—fell into step behind her, following as instructed.

As we walked through the grand hallways of the castle, I caught sight of several greyish-silver, slightly transparent figures floating nearby. Hogwarts ghosts.

A plump, jolly-looking spirit drifted toward us, his cheerful expression standing out among the other specters. The Fat Friar.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know!" he called out, beaming at the line of first-years.

A few steps ahead, I spotted the Grey Lady—Helena Ravenclaw. She floated silently, observing the students with an unreadable expression, her gaze cool and detached.

Then, my eyes landed on him.

A ghost with heavy chains wrapped around him, his clothes stained with what looked like old blood, his presence radiating an eerie sort of menace—the one and only Bloody Baron.

And finally, the last ghost in our little spectral welcome party—wearing extravagant tights, a curly mustache, a small goatee, and carrying himself with dramatic flair—Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Or, as he was called by everyone, Nearly Headless Nick.

I had read about Hogwarts ghosts before, but seeing them in person? That was something else entirely.

Jasmine, however, seemed too busy not making eye contact with the Bloody Baron to appreciate the moment.

Finally, we entered the Great Hall—and it was nothing short of breathtaking.

The vast chamber was bathed in the warm glow of thousands upon thousands of floating candles, suspended midair above four long tables, where the rest of the students sat. The tables shimmered with golden plates and goblets, gleaming under the candlelight like something straight out of a fairytale.

I tilted my head back, my eyes drawn to the ceiling—a vast expanse of velvety black, speckled with twinkling stars. It was so perfectly enchanted to mirror the night sky outside that, for a moment, I almost believed we were dining beneath the open heavens. A simple yet brilliant piece of magic I had read about in Hogwarts: A History.

At the very top of the hall, on an elevated dais, stood another long table—the staff table—where the Hogwarts professors sat, watching the procession of first-years with varying degrees of interest.

Among them, I immediately recognized a short wizard with goblin-like features—Filius Flitwick, the Charms professor. Beside him sat a stout little witch with short, grey, wavy hair—Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor.

And then, of course, there was him.

A tall, thin man with sallow skin, a large, hooked nose, and uneven teeth. Dressed in flowing black robes, he had an eerie, almost predatory stillness to him. The flickering candlelight only added to his dramatic effect, making him resemble nothing short of an overgrown bat. The infamous Potions Master, Severus Snape.

But as grand as the hall was, as intimidating as the professors looked, none of them were the main event of the evening.

That honor belonged to the tattered, ancient-looking hat sitting beside Professor McGonagall.

A hat that was, very clearly, moving on its own.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, was the Sorting Hat.

As I placed my eyes on the hat it twitched a bit and its brim opened as it started singing,

A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose name are still well-known:

Bold Gryffindor from wild moor,

Fair Ravlenclaw from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin from fen.

They share a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan,

To educate young sorcerers,

Thus Hogwarts school began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues,

In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hardworkers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide

Their favourates from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug around your ears,

I've never yet been wrong,

I'll have alook inside your mind

And tell where you belong!

The entire hall erupted into applause as the Sorting Hat finished its song.

I turned to Jasmine with a smug expression, raising an eyebrow as if to say, "I was right, wasn't I?"

But, of course, that wasn't enough. I just had to say it out loud.

"Still want Hippogriffs, Miss Potter?"

"Shut up, Ashborn," she huffed, her slight annoyance only fueling my amusement.

Our banter, however, was swiftly interrupted.

"Ahem."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, her sharp gaze instantly silencing the room. Like obedient little sheep, every first-year snapped their attention back to her.

Once she was sure we were all listening, she spoke in her usual firm, no-nonsense tone.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

Then, in a voice that carried effortlessly across the Great Hall, she called out—

"Ashborn, Maximus!"

Well, that was expected—and fast.

As soon as my name was called, I stepped forward, making my way to the front of the Great Hall. The room felt impossibly vast as I sat on the small wooden stool, my heartbeat steady, yet charged with anticipation.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on my head, and immediately, a voice echoed in my mind.

"Oh! It's been nearly two hundred years since I last sorted an Ashborn."

'Hello, Hat.'

"My, my—how unusual you are, young one. One of the many transmigrators I have seen."

I barely had time to process that before the Hat continued, cutting off my unspoken question.

"Do not worry—your secret is safe with me. As you likely already know, I am enchanted to protect all the secrets of those I sort."

I exhaled silently. Good to know.

"But what an interesting mind you have," the Hat mused. "You do not favor one house over another. You see beyond the divisions. And you are correct—it is not merely the values of one house that make a great wizard. A pity most students only realize that far too late in life."

"But still… I can place you in only one house. Let's see now—where do you truly belong?"

The Hat hummed in thought.

"Ahh, the thirst for knowledge—Rowena would have adored you in her house. And then there's the desire... the desire to be truly free. An ambition worthy of Slytherin. But is there something else? Something deeper?"

I already knew the answer.

I don't care who stands in my way—I will stand my ground against anyone who dares to oppress my freedom.

The Hat stilled.

"This child… this thought—this is your true core." Its voice carried a note of reverence, as if it had seen something it did not expect.

"I see it clearly now. Bravery. Courage. A will shining as the brightest star even in darkest times, unyielding against oppression. You rival some of the greatest wizards I have ever sorted. There is only one place for you."

And then, aloud, for the entire hall to hear—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Sorting Hat was lifted from my head, and as I stood from the stool, I turned toward Professor McGonagall. Lowering my voice, I said with quiet respect, "I will be under your care, Professor."

She regarded me for a moment before offering the smallest of smiles.

With my robes now shining with red and gold, I made my way toward the Gryffindor table, where my new housemates greeted me with cheers and applause.