"The train will arrive at Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on board—it will be taken to the school separately."
Night had fallen outside the window. Beneath the deep violet sky, mountains and forests stretched into the distance as the train gradually slowed. A loud announcement echoed through the corridor.
"We should change into our robes."
George removed his coat and pulled on his black Hogwarts wizard's robe. Luna, Ginny, and Colin quickly followed suit.
When the train finally stopped, young wizards surged out, shoving through the narrow corridor in a frantic rush, some even squeezing their faces comically out of shape in the process.
"Don't push!"
Seeing the chaos, George immediately blocked Ginny and the others from joining the crush.
Hogwarts is a massive castle—it's not going anywhere. There's no need to panic.
Unlike the other students, George felt curiosity and anticipation rather than nervousness.
For one, he wasn't truly a child. And after everything he'd been through—transmigration, soul-splitting, and life-and-death struggles—his composure far surpassed even that of most adults.
After about two minutes, the crowd thinned. Only then did George lead the three out of the compartment, stepping calmly onto the platform.
"Stick with me. Don't wander off toward the older students."
"George," Ginny said suddenly, trailing behind him, "honestly, you remind me of my dad sometimes. You just… feel really reliable."
She paused, then added, "Actually, more reliable than him."
(She couldn't help thinking of Arthur's occasional absentmindedness.)
Colin and Luna nodded in agreement.
Though they'd known George for less than a day, he'd already left a strong impression:
Calm speech, rarely startled by anything.
Helped them with their luggage without hesitation.
Wiped their faces when snacks left them messy.
Even draped his robe over them when they dozed off in the afternoon.
And now, stepping off the train, he gave them the same unshakable sense of safety as an adult guiding children.
George chuckled. Truthfully, his actions were just instinctive adult behavior toward kids he didn't dislike.
Physically, I'm a child in this world—but pretending to be one all the time? That's impossible.
Given his backstory, acting mature for his age wasn't strange. If anything, it worked in his favor.
"First years! First years over here!"
A familiar voice boomed across the platform.
George turned to see Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper, holding a magical lantern and calling out. Even among hundreds of students, his three-meter-tall frame made him impossible to miss.
"Stay close."
George forged ahead like a blade through the crowd, effortlessly parting the older students with sheer strength. (Even seventh-years couldn't match his raw power.)
"Good ter see yeh again, little boss!"
Hagrid bent down, beaming at George.
He remembered this boy well—the young shopkeeper from Knockturn Alley who'd sold him potions at a discount.
"Hello, Hagrid." George smiled politely.
"You know Hagrid? Why did he call you 'little boss'?"
Ginny whispered the question, intrigued. She'd never met Hagrid but recognized him from Ron's stories.
"My adoptive father ran a potions shop. He passed away recently. Hagrid was a customer."
George answered casually, but Ginny's face immediately fell.
"Oh… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
Luna and Colin also looked sympathetic.
"It's fine."
George almost laughed. If only they knew I'm the one who killed the old man. But that would traumatize them.
Soon, all thirty-odd first-years had gathered.
(Hogwarts' student body was small—around 300 total, with roughly 40 per year. With so few professors—like the lone Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher handling all seven grades—larger numbers would be unmanageable.)
Hagrid led them down a narrow path to the Black Lake, where the traditional four-to-a-boat rule awaited them—a ritual honoring Hogwarts' four founders.
Naturally, George shared a boat with Luna, Ginny, and Colin.
The vessels weren't ordinary, either. Enchanted with alchemical wind charms, they glided smoothly across the water without oars.
Even George felt a stir of awe as the towering castle loomed into view. One overwhelmed first-year even toppled into the lake—only to be promptly rescued by the giant squid and deposited back aboard.
(The Black Lake teemed with magical creatures, after all.)
After docking at the underground harbor, they trekked through a rocky tunnel to the castle gates, where Hagrid handed them off to a tall, stern witch in emerald robes—Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor and Transfiguration mistress.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but first, you must be sorted into your houses."
She ushered them into a side chamber, explaining the four houses and the coveted House Cup.
Once she left, the room buzzed with nervous chatter—mostly about the Sorting Ceremony.
George, too, wondered: Which house will I end up in?
He wasn't Harry Potter. The Sorting Hat wouldn't debate his fate or cater to his preferences. Like everyone else, he'd be assigned based on magical assessment alone.
But it didn't matter.
Every house has its merits. And no matter where I land…
I'll be the most exceptional wizard Hogwarts has ever seen.
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