Quirks in Wizarding World

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- Hogwarts Castle -

- September 1,1991 – Evening -

The first-years followed Hagrid along the stone path leading up to the castle entrance, their footsteps echoing in the cool night air. The towering oak doors stood before them, flanked by massive torches that cast flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls.

Arthav walked with measured steps, his gaze drifting across the surroundings. His special eyes saw more than just the castle's grandeur—he saw the way magic pulsed through the stones, woven deep into the very foundation of Hogwarts. The wards around the entrance shimmered with protective enchantments, their presence comforting yet formidable. Even the suits of armor that lined the corridors carried dormant magical energy, waiting to spring to life if needed.

The doors swung open, and the students stepped into a vast entrance hall with a grand staircase leading to the upper floors. The warmth from the torches and the sheer size of the space made Hogwarts feel even more imposing. The first-years huddled together, whispering excitedly as their eyes roamed over the moving paintings and enchanted fixtures.

Professor McGonagall stood near the doorway leading to the Great Hall, her sharp eyes scanning the group. She was stern, but not unkind, her presence demanding attention without the need for raised words.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, her voice crisp and clear. "In a few moments, you will be sorted into your houses. The four houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—will be your home for the next seven years. Your successes will earn you points, and any rule-breaking will cost your house points. I expect you all to be on your best behavior."

A hush fell over the group as she spoke. Even the more restless students stood still, sensing the weight of the moment.

"I will return shortly once everything is ready," she finished. With a last glance at the assembled first-years, she turned and strode into the Great Hall, leaving them to wait.

As soon as she was gone, the hushed murmurs among the students grew into full conversations.

Draco Malfoy stepped forward, a familiar sneer curling his lips as he locked eyes with Harry. "So, Potter, still hanging around with the wrong sort of people?" His gaze flicked to Ron and Arthav, his voice dripping with disdain. "A Weasley and… whatever he is."

Ron's ears turned red instantly, but before he could retort, Malfoy continued, "You should think carefully about who you associate with. I tried to help you back in Diagon Alley, but clearly, you don't know what's best for you."

Harry crossed his arms, unfazed. "I do, actually. And I'm fine with my friends."

Malfoy scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Suit yourself, Potter. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Ron clenched his fists, but before the argument could escalate, Malfoy turned toward Arthav, expecting a reaction. But Arthav wasn't even looking at him. He was gazing at a moving portrait of a medieval wizard deep in conversation with another painting, seemingly uninterested in anything Malfoy had to say.

Malfoy's sneer deepened at being ignored. "What, too good to respond?" he asked, his voice sharper. Still, Arthav didn't acknowledge him, his attention shifting instead to the shimmering magic laced through the tapestries and walls.

Before Malfoy could say anything further, a sharp tap on his shoulder made him jump. He turned to find Professor McGonagall looking down at him, unimpressed.

"Back to your place, Mr. Malfoy," she said simply. Malfoy stiffened but obeyed, stepping back into the crowd just as a familiar croak echoed through the hall.

"Neville, there's your toad!" someone called, and sure enough, Trevor was hopping toward them. Neville let out a sigh of relief as he quickly scooped up his wayward pet.

Professor McGonagall, now satisfied, looked over the students once more. "Now then, follow me," she instructed.

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and they stepped inside.

The sight before them was breathtaking. Thousands of floating candles hovered above the long house tables, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. The ceiling, enchanted to reflect the night sky, stretched high above them, shimmering with stars and wisps of clouds. It was more than just an illusion—Arthav could see the layers of spellwork that made it function. It was a masterpiece, woven with incredible precision, shifting and adapting to the real sky outside.

Ron let out an awed, "Blimey…"

Harry stared upward, completely captivated.

"It's enchanted to look like the sky outside," Hermione whispered beside them, her voice filled with excitement. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

Arthav, still studying the intricate magic at play, nodded slightly. He could appreciate the level of craftsmanship behind the enchantment. Whoever had woven these spells had done so with a deep understanding of magical layering, something not easily achieved.

The first-years gathered at the front of the hall, just before the raised platform where the teachers sat at the High Table. In the center of the room, on a stool, sat an old, tattered wizard's hat.

Professor McGonagall turned to face them. "When I call your name, you will come forward and place the Sorting Hat on your head. It will decide which house you belong to."

The hall fell into silence.

The Sorting was about to begin.

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Professor McGonagall stood beside the stool, a long scroll of parchment in hand. One by one, names were called, and each student stepped forward, sitting upon the stool as the Sorting Hat was carefully placed upon their head. The enchanted hat spoke in a voice only the wearer could hear, analyzing their strengths, ambitions, and potential before announcing their house.

The first few students were sorted quickly, their decisions met with cheers from their new housemates. Then, a familiar name rang through the hall.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and strode toward the stool. As soon as the hat was placed on her head, it began murmuring about her sharp mind and immense potential. She listened intently, nervous but determined.

"Hmm… A brilliant mind, indeed. You could do well in Ravenclaw," the hat mused.

Hermione bit her lip, hoping for Gryffindor.

"Ah, but you have the courage and determination too… Better be—Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers as Hermione grinned, hopping off the stool and rushing over to join them.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Ron swallowed hard and walked up to the stool, looking paler than before. The hat had barely touched his head when it chuckled.

"Ah, another Weasley! I know just what to do with you—Gryffindor!"

The table cheered again, and Ron let out a sigh of relief, quickly joining Hermione.

Next, "Malfoy, Draco."

Draco strutted toward the stool as if he had already won a prize. The hat barely hesitated before making its decision.

"Slytherin!"

Draco smirked, pleased, and sauntered over to the Slytherin table, where he was welcomed with nods of approval.

Then came the moment nearly everyone had been waiting for.

"Potter, Harry."

A hushed whisper spread through the Great Hall as every eye turned to Harry. The famous Boy Who Lived.

Harry walked up hesitantly, heart pounding as he sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and immediately, a voice echoed in his mind.

"Ah, difficult… Very difficult… Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. And an eager thirst to prove yourself… Now, where to put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool.

"Not Slytherin," he thought desperately.

"Not Slytherin?" the hat repeated, amused. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head, and Slytherin could help you on the way to greatness—no doubt about that."

"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin," Harry kept repeating in his mind.

The hat sighed. "Well, if you're sure… Better be—Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table exploded with cheers, clapping and shouting Harry's name as he pulled off the hat and rushed over. Relief washed over him as he sat beside Ron, who was grinning. Before fully turning back to his new housemates, Harry glanced at Arthav, who gave him a small, reassuring nod. Harry returned it with a grateful smile before settling into his seat, warmly welcomed by the Gryffindors.

And then—

"Nair, Arthav!"

Silence.

The hall seemed to still as Arthav walked toward the stool, his posture calm and composed. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, but he paid them no mind. As he sat, the hat was placed upon his head, and immediately, he felt a presence probing his mind.

"Well now," the hat murmured. "This is interesting… Very interesting indeed."

Arthav said nothing, waiting for it to continue.

"You are an unusual one," the hat mused. "Your sensitivity to magic is extraordinary. No—more than that, you can sense something deeper, something older… Ah, you feel both prana and magic, don't you? A rare gift, indeed."

Arthav blinked. It wasn't something he had shared with anyone.

"And your potential… Fascinating. There's a certain something about you… something even I can't fully see. A mutation, a divergence from the norm… But I won't be telling anyone that, now will I?" The Sorting hat whispered the last part in a very small voice, barely anyone could hear save for Professor McGonnagal who was standing nearby, and she looked at him with interest.

Arthav's fingers twitched slightly, but he stayed silent.

"Now, where to place you?" The hat hummed, considering. "You have the courage of a Gryffindor, the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, the intelligence of a Ravenclaw, and even the ambition of a Slytherin. It's been years since I've seen someone who fits every house so well… Not since the Founders themselves."

A ripple of energy passed through the Great Hall, as if the magic of the castle itself had taken notice. Some of the professors at the High Table leaned forward slightly, sensing the unusual nature of this sorting. Even Dumbledore watched with keen interest, his eyes twinkling.

"You could do well anywhere," the hat continued. "Slytherin could nurture your ambition, Gryffindor could sharpen your courage, Hufflepuff could teach you patience and balance, and Ravenclaw—ah, yes, Ravenclaw—your mind yearns for knowledge, doesn't it?"

Arthav took a quiet breath. He had already thought about this. "Ravenclaw," he suggested, his voice firm but respectful.

"Hmm?"

"My mother was a Ravenclaw. I would like to be in the house she once was," Arthav explained simply.

The hat considered. "Sentimental, are we? No, not quite… You seek understanding, wisdom. Very well. If that is your choice, then—"

"Ravenclaw!"

The blue-and-silver table burst into applause as Arthav removed the hat and made his way over. The Ravenclaws welcomed him with nods and small smiles, though a few were eyeing him curiously, clearly intrigued by what had just happened.

Harry watched him go, still feeling the echo of the Sorting Hat's words. He didn't understand everything about Arthav, but he knew one thing—he was no ordinary wizard.

Arthav took his seat among the Ravenclaws, his expression calm as he observed the Great Hall once more. His journey at Hogwarts had truly begun.

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