As Hermione asked her question, the surrounding young wizards glanced over—eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
Even those from wizarding families weren't immune. After all, no matter how many times they'd questioned their parents or older siblings about the Sorting Ceremony, the answers were always mysterious—sometimes even terrifying.
For instance, Ron Weasley had been told by his twin older brothers that he'd have to fight a troll or a werewolf to get sorted.
Hermione spoke up again, clearly nervous.
"Will there be a test? To see how much magic we've learned?"
"I've already finished Hogwarts: A History."
"I've also skimmed A History of Magic."
"And practiced some common spells..."
"But I really didn't have time to dive deep into Transfiguration."
"Professor, do I still have a chance of passing the Sorting Ceremony?"
Hermione's rapid-fire questions came out like a burst from a machine gun. For a moment, the air grew tense, almost frozen in silence.
Several students stared at her with disbelief, as though thinking, Who is this academic overachiever trying to humblebrag?
Others turned pale. They hadn't even touched a spellbook yet.
Was it too late to start cramming?
Noticing the panic brewing among the students, Professor Sprout smiled—though there was something unusual in it. Of course, she wasn't going to reveal the truth behind the Sorting Ceremony. That was a tradition passed down for generations in the British wizarding world. No teacher would dare spoil it.
"That is, of course, a very... very difficult test," she said, dramatically stretching the word "very."
Gasps rippled through the group of first-years.
But then her expression softened as she looked at one student in particular: Char.
He looked perfectly calm—too calm, in fact. Not a trace of fear or nervousness on his face. That made her feel a twinge of disappointment. She'd rather hoped to see the usually composed Char flustered, just this once.
Still smiling gently, she addressed the students.
"But there's nothing to worry about."
"No matter your background—rich or poor, wizard-born or Muggle-born—once you received your Hogwarts letter, you became part of this school."
"Whether you're brave or timid, bold or cautious, Hogwarts is waiting for you."
"Hogwarts never gives up on any of its students."
Her warm words seemed to ease the tension. The anxiety in the group lifted somewhat.
Then, with a playful wink to Char, she said, "See you at the Sorting Ceremony."
And with that, she turned and walked off down another path.
Char and Hermione followed the group, walking among the crowd of young wizards as Hagrid led the way.
Hermione, ever the perfectionist, was clearly still anxious. She kept muttering excerpts from A History of Magic under her breath, utterly unaware of the puzzled or amused glances cast her way.
Char sighed and finally stepped in.
"Hermione," he said.
She nearly stumbled, looking up in surprise. "Hmm?"
Char replied calmly but firmly. "You can be in any house at Hogwarts, if you want to be. All four are part of the school. None are better or worse. They just focus on different things."
"What matters most is your own effort—and what you do with the time you're given."
"So stop reciting A History of Magic, or you'll miss the one-time-only view of Hogwarts' entrance."
Hermione blinked, startled—but his words seemed to reach her. She slowly closed her mouth and finally fell silent.
Char let out a quiet breath of relief.
The group trudged on through the crisp night air, the path steep and narrow beneath their feet. They slipped and stumbled downhill, following Hagrid's tall figure.
"Just around this bend," Hagrid called out cheerfully, "and you'll see Hogwarts for the first time!"
Gasps of awe echoed, just like in the original story.
As they rounded the corner, the sight of the Black Lake and the towering castle of Hogwarts filled their vision.
Even Char—who had experienced many things in his previous life—felt a surge of emotion.
This was it.
The beginning of the true path of magic.
Hogwarts—
Where both Dumbledore and Voldemort began their journeys.
As the students stood silently, taking it all in, Hagrid busied himself getting them into a fleet of small boats.
Char, Hermione, and Neville shared one, and soon a fourth student climbed aboard.
"Hello, I'm Susan Bones," said the girl, taking the last seat.
The moment her name was spoken, both Char and Neville looked serious.
"Char Sprout," Char introduced himself.
"Neville Longbottom," said Neville.
Susan looked at them, then smiled.
"Oh! My aunt and uncle mentioned you two. Our parents were comrades-in-arms during the war."
Then her face faltered.
"Sorry... I shouldn't have brought that up."
Char and Neville quickly waved it off. They understood.
Susan's parents—like theirs—were brave wizards who had died fighting Voldemort.
Because of that shared history, the Sprout, Longbottom, and Bones families were especially close. Naturally, Char and Neville felt a bond with Susan.
But a darker memory stirred in Char's mind.
Susan was currently living with her aunt—Amelia Susan Bones—a formidable witch.
Char remembered clearly: in the fifth book, Amelia had become Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Yet in that same year—1995—a Death Eater escaped from Azkaban and wiped out Susan's remaining family in a horrifying massacre.
Though the original books never named the attacker, Char had a strong suspicion.
"Antonin Dolohov."
Dolohov had always been one of the cruelest among Voldemort's followers. He had suffered major setbacks at the hands of the Bones couple during the war. It would be entirely in character for him to take revenge the moment he escaped.
A cold glint flashed in Char's eyes.
Just over four years from now.
He couldn't change everything in the future—nor did he intend to.
But Dolohov?
Dolohov had to die.
By some strange twist of fate, the four people in the boat—Char, Neville, Susan, and Hermione—had all been directly or indirectly harmed by Dolohov.
Neville's parents had been tortured into insanity.
Susan's family would later be killed.
Hermione herself, in the original fifth book, was critically injured by Dolohov during the battle at the Department of Mysteries—barely surviving.
They shared a common enemy.
Char clenched his fists for a moment—but then forced himself to exhale.
Now wasn't the time for vengeance.
He had to plant more trees.
More strength. More preparation.
Only then could he change that future.
At last, Hogwarts loomed just ahead. The boats reached the shore, and the students were led away by Professor McGonagall.
After tidying their appearances and lining them up in the entrance hall, they were ushered into the majestic Great Hall of Hogwarts.
The Sorting Hat sang its usual odd yet charming song.
Then, Professor McGonagall called out the first name.
"Hannah Abbott!"
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