Chris stood in the grand entrance hall of Ambrosia Manor, his trunk packed and waiting beside him like a faithful hound. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden rectangles across the marble floor and catching in his white-blue hair. The familiar warmth of home surrounded him one last time before his departure to Hogwarts, a place that existed simultaneously as a story from his past life and the next chapter of his current one.
"Master has everything he needs?" Jilly asked, her eyes surveying him with the careful assessment of someone who had spent months ensuring his preparation was flawless.
Chris nodded, running a hand absently over the silver bracelet on his wrist. The glamour sat comfortably against his skin, maintaining his eleven-year-old appearance while his actual sixteen-year-old frame hummed with restrained magical power.
"I believe so," he replied. "Books, robes, wand, supplies, all packed and ready."
Bouncy appeared with a soft pop, already in motion as he materialised, his colourful uniform a blur of patches as he danced from foot to foot. "Today's the day-day-day!" he sang, circling Chris's trunk with unbridled excitement. "Master Chrissy goes to Hoggy-warts to become the most amazing-brilliant-powerful wizard ever!"
Despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach, Chris couldn't help but smile. "I'll certainly try, Bouncy. Though I'll need to be careful not to show too much of what I can do."
"Master will write to us?" Jilly asked, her voice steady though her ears drooped slightly, betraying her emotions.
"Every week," Chris promised, kneeling to be at eye-level with the elves who had become his family these past eight months. "And I'll be home for the winter holidays before you know it."
Jilly nodded, composing herself with visible effort. "We have prepared a lunch for the train journey," she said, snapping her fingers to produce a small basket that looked ordinary but was enchanted to contain far more food than its dimensions suggested. "And several books for the ride."
Chris accepted the basket, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had not expected to grow so attached to the manor and its inhabitants in such a relatively short time, yet the thought of leaving brought a surprising ache to his chest.
"Thank you," he said softly. "Both of you. For everything."
Before either elf could respond, Chris pulled them into a hug. Jilly stiffened momentarily, unused to such displays from her master, before returning the embrace with dignified restraint. Bouncy had no such reservations, throwing his thin arms around Chris's neck with enough enthusiasm to nearly topple them all.
"Master is the best master ever-ever-ever!" Bouncy declared, his voice muffled against Chris's shoulder.
When they separated, Jilly discreetly wiped at the corner of her eye while Bouncy continued to bounce in place, emotion translating directly into motion as it always did with him.
"It's time," Chris said, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. "King's Cross, then Hogwarts."
Bouncy stepped forward, his expression suddenly serious despite his perpetual movement. "Bouncy will take Master to the station," he declared proudly. "But muggles mustn't see elves. Bouncy will use elf-magic to make us not-noticed."
He snapped his fingers, and a ripple of magic washed over them both. Chris felt a curious sensation, as if he'd been wrapped in a blanket that muffled not his senses but others' awareness of him.
"House elf Notice-Me-Not," Jilly explained with a hint of pride. "Different from wizard magic, but effective. Muggles' eyes will slide past you both without registering your presence."
Chris raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I didn't realise house elves had their own version of that charm."
"House elves must often work unseen," Jilly said simply. "It is a necessary skill."
With a final goodbye to Jilly, Chris gripped his trunk handle with one hand and placed the other on Bouncy's shoulder. The excitable elf gave a final hop of anticipation, and with a crack that seemed softer than usual, perhaps muffled by the Notice-Me-Not charm, they disappeared from Ambrosia Manor.
The sensation of apparition hadn't improved since Chris's first experience. His body felt compressed through a tight rubber tube, lungs struggling for air that wasn't there, pressure squeezing from all sides. Then, just as suddenly, the pressure released, and his feet touched solid ground once more.
They had appeared in a shadowed corner of King's Cross Station, the sounds and smells of the busy terminal rushing in all at once. The clattering of trains, the squealing of brakes, the murmur of hundreds of conversations merged into a constant background hum. People hurried past their hidden corner, briefcases swinging, children in tow, no one glancing toward the spot where a boy and a house elf had materialised from thin air.
"House elf magic bypasses anti-apparition wards," Bouncy explained, noticing Chris's surprise at their direct arrival. "Different magic, different rules."
Another useful piece of information to file away, Chris thought. The limits of house elf magic seemed far fewer than wizarding accounts suggested.
"This is where Bouncy must leave Master," the elf said, his large eyes growing shiny with unshed tears. "Bouncy must return to help Jilly prepare Master's room for Christmas holidays."
Chris knelt again, meeting the elf's gaze. "Thank you, Bouncy. I'll see you at Christmas."
With a final silent hug, Bouncy disappeared with a soft pop, leaving Chris alone in the crowded station, still wrapped in the fading effects of elf magic. Acting quickly, he drew his wand from its invisible holster and reinforced the Notice-Me-Not charm with his own magic before it could dissipate completely.
"Nemo Notitia," he whispered, feeling his magic respond instantly to the intent. Unlike a true invisibility cloak, the charm didn't make him invisible but simply unremarkable, encouraging others' attention to slide past him as if he were no more interesting than a potted plant.
With his magical concealment secured, Chris maneuverer through the crowded station, dodging luggage carts and hurried travellers until he reached the barrier between platforms nine and ten. He selected a bench with a clear view of the entrance, settled his trunk beside him, and prepared to observe.
The ordinary Sunday morning crowd flowed around him, businessmen in pressed suits checking watches, tourists consulting maps, families herding children. Among them, he watched for the distinctive signs of wizarding folk trying to blend in with muggles, and usually failing spectacularly.
He didn't have to wait long. A family of redheads appeared at the entrance, their hair a beacon among the more subdued colours of the muggle crowd. Molly Weasley led her brood with confident efficiency, her floral dress and coat a reasonable approximation of muggle clothing, though decades out of fashion. Behind her trailed a line of children: the twins Fred and George elbowing each other and snickering, Percy with his chest puffed out importantly, Ron looking awkward and gangly, and finally young Ginny holding her mother's hand.
Chris leaned forward slightly, watching their progress with narrowed eyes. Any normal wizarding family, especially one that had made this journey as many times as the Weasleys, would proceed directly to the barrier, perhaps in pairs to avoid muggle notice, and disappear quickly onto Platform 9¾.
But the Weasleys did not.
Instead, they stopped in the most visible spot between the platforms, directly in front of the barrier. Molly's voice carried clearly across the concourse, far louder than necessary.
", packed with Muggles, of course, "
Chris's suspicions deepened as he watched the theatrical performance unfold. The Weasley matriarch asked her children which platform number, as if she hadn't been making this journey for years. The older boys vanished through the barrier one by one, while Molly deliberately remained behind with Ron and Ginny, despite the late hour.
"Waiting for someone, Mrs. Weasley?" Chris murmured to himself, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against his knee.
Right on cue, a small, black-haired boy appeared, pushing a trolley with a large trunk and an owl cage. Harry Potter looked exactly as Chris expected, thin, with round glasses held together with tape, drowning in oversized clothes, a lightning scar just visible beneath his unruly hair. His expression was a mixture of confusion and determination as he scanned the platforms, clearly lost.
Molly's voice rose again, the words "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters" ringing out like a beacon. Harry's head turned instantly toward the sound, his relief palpable even from a distance as he approached the remaining Weasleys.
Chris observed the ensuing interaction with growing certainty. The timing was too perfect, the positioning too convenient, Molly's helpful explanation too rehearsed. This was no coincidence but a carefully arranged meeting, orchestrated to ensure Harry found companionship with the "right" sort of wizarding family.
"Dumbledore," Chris whispered, a cold certainty settling in his stomach. The manipulative version of the Headmaster existed in this reality, using the Weasleys as unwitting, or perhaps witting, pawns in whatever game he was playing with Harry Potter's life.
After Harry and the remaining Weasleys disappeared through the barrier, Chris waited a calculated thirty seconds before approaching himself. He released the Notice-Me-Not charm, becoming visible to ordinary perception once more, and strode confidently toward the barrier, pushing his trunk ahead of him.
The brick wall melted away as he approached, revealing Platform 9¾ in all its magical glory. The Hogwarts Express gleamed scarlet against billowing steam, its polished brass fixtures catching the morning light. Families crowded the platform, parents giving last-minute advice, younger siblings watching enviously, owls hooting in their cages, cats winding between legs. The air smelled of coal smoke, magic, and anticipation.
Chris moved purposefully through the crowd, stowing his trunk in the luggage compartment with a surreptitious feather-light charm before boarding the train. He found an empty compartment toward the middle of the train, settled into a window seat, and watched as the platform continued to fill with students and families saying their goodbyes.
First test confirmed, he thought as the whistle blew its warning. Dumbledore was indeed manipulating events from behind the scenes. The question now was how deeply those manipulations ran, and whether they would eventually extend to include Christopher Emrys Ambrosia, heir of Merlin.
The Hogwarts Express lurched forward with a shrill whistle, steam billowing past Chris's window as the train pulled away from Platform 9¾. Parents and younger siblings waved from the platform, their figures growing smaller until they disappeared around the bend. Chris leaned back in his seat, the empty compartment offering a rare moment of solitude amidst the chaos of departure day. His fingers traced absently over his wand in its invisible holster, the wood warm and responsive to his touch even through the leather.
As the train picked up speed, London's urban sprawl gradually gave way to suburbs, then to the rolling countryside beyond. Chris watched the landscape flow past, fields and hedgerows like puzzle pieces fitting together across the earth. The steady rhythm of the wheels against the tracks created a hypnotic backdrop to his thoughts.
Eight months of preparation had led to this moment. From that first disorienting day in Gringotts to his transformation through the Maturation Ritual, every step had been calculated to give him the best possible start in this second chance at life. His mission was deceptively simple on its surface: to be happy, to be free, to live fully in this world he once thought fictional. Yet beneath that simplicity lay complex layers of strategy and foreknowledge that set him apart from every other student on this train.
"Two of my three wishes," he murmured to himself, recalling his bargain with The One Above All. Strength and safety had been granted through his Merlin ancestry. Happiness, the third wish, even though the One Above All said it was granted, would be his to pursue on his own terms.
The door to his compartment slid open, startling him from his reverie. A girl with bushy brown hair peered in, already dressed in her Hogwarts robes despite the journey having barely begun.
"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one," she asked in a bossy sort of voice, her eyes quickly taking in Chris's appearance. Her gaze lingered momentarily on his distinctive white hair with its electric blue streaks.
"No toads here, sorry," Chris replied with a polite smile. "But if I see one, I'll be sure to catch it."
She nodded somewhat stiffly before closing the door and continuing down the corridor. Chris recognised Hermione Granger, of course, though he kept his expression neutral. Better not to reveal any recognition of those he supposedly hadn't met yet.
More students passed by his compartment over the next hour, first-years with wide, nervous eyes, older students greeting friends and boasting about summer adventures. Some glanced curiously at the white-haired boy sitting alone, but none attempted to join him, perhaps deterred by his calm, self-contained demeanour.
When the corridor finally quieted, Chris pulled out The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) from his bag. Though he had already mastered every charm within its pages, maintaining his cover required appearing to learn alongside his classmates. He practised wand movements without actually performing the spells, his fingers tracing precise patterns in the air as he silently mouthed incantations.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered, executing the swish-and-flick with a wooden practice stick rather than his actual wand, which remained safely in its holster. "Lumos. Alohomora."
The movements felt natural after months of practice, muscle memory so ingrained he could perform them flawlessly while his mind wandered elsewhere. He thought about the coming year, the challenges of balancing his true abilities against the persona of an ordinary first-year student. Too little skill would waste opportunities; too much would draw unwanted attention.
A cheerful witch pushing a trolley piled high with sweets paused at his compartment around midday. "Anything from the trolley, dear?" she asked, gesturing to the colourful array of magical confections.
Chris smiled but shook his head. "No, thank you. I have lunch." He patted the basket Jilly had prepared, which contained sandwiches that would put the Hogwarts kitchen to shame, along with fruit preserved with freshness charms and homemade pumpkin juice.
As he ate, he watched the scenery change outside his window. Neat fields gave way to wilder countryside, hills rising in the distance, forests creeping closer to the tracks. The sky, which had been bright and clear at departure, began to develop scattered clouds that cast moving shadows across the landscape.
Other first-years walked past his compartment periodically, their conversations drifting through the partially open door. Many discussed the Sorting, theories ranging from fighting a troll to performing difficult magic.
"My brothers told me we have to wrestle a mountain troll," one redheaded boy said with obvious anxiety.
"Don't be ridiculous," came a dismissive female voice. "It's obviously some kind of test of our magical abilities.
The clouds thickened, turning the golden afternoon light to a cooler blue-grey that spoke of approaching night. Chris put away his books and practice stick, knowing Hogsmeade Station couldn't be far now.
He changed into his Hogwarts robes, the expensive fabric settling comfortably against his skin. Though they appeared identical to standard student robes, the enhancements he'd requested from Madam Malkin made them far superior, cooling charms would keep him comfortable in the stuffy Great Hall, and the extended pockets could hold far more than visible dimensions suggested.
The sky outside had darkened completely by the time an announcement echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."
Chris felt a flutter of genuine excitement in his stomach, surprising himself with its intensity. Despite all his preparation, despite knowing exactly what awaited him, the prospect of seeing Hogwarts Castle for the first time in person still filled him with wonder. This was the moment where story became reality, where the second chapter of his new life truly began.
The train's brakes squealed as it began to slow, the lights of Hogsmeade Station appearing in the distance like earthbound stars. Chris took a deep breath, centring himself. Outside his compartment, students filled the corridor, their voices pitched higher with nervous excitement.
"Here we go," he whispered to himself, standing to join the crowd as the train finally ground to a halt. He stepped into the corridor, allowing himself to be swept along with the flow of students toward the exits, a single white-haired figure in a sea of black robes, ready to begin his journey at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Chris stepped from the train onto the tiny, dark platform of Hogsmeade Station, cool night air washing over him like a welcome after the stuffy confines of the train. The platform lanterns cast pools of yellow light that barely pushed back the darkness of the surrounding wilderness, revealing glimpses of towering pines that swayed gently in the breeze. The scent of smoke from the train mingled with the clean, sharp smell of pine and the earthy dampness of the nearby lake, creating a fragrance that was unmistakably different from London's urban tang.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" A booming voice rose above the chatter of arriving students, drawing Chris's attention to a massive figure swinging a lantern at the far end of the platform. Hagrid stood head and shoulders, and most of a torso, above the tallest students, his wild beard and hair creating a dark halo around his face in the lantern light.
Chris moved toward the gathering cluster of first-years, their faces a mixture of excitement and trepidation in the flickering light. He noted familiar figures from the station, Harry Potter standing beside Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger with her bushy hair, Draco Malfoy flanked by two larger boys. Everyone looked smaller somehow, more vulnerable in the darkness of the Scottish highlands than they had in the daylight of London.
"C'mon, follow me, any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now!" Hagrid called, turning to lead them down what seemed at first glance to be merely a gap between trees but revealed itself as a steep, narrow path cutting through dense forest.
The path twisted and turned, slick with recent rain and lined with roots that threatened to trip the unwary. Students stumbled along in near silence, occasional whispers and nervous laughter punctuating the darkness. The trees pressed close on either side, branches overlapping overhead to block what little starlight might have filtered down. The only illumination came from Hagrid's swinging lantern ahead, creating shifting patterns of light and shadow that made the forest seem alive with movement.
"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."
The narrow path opened suddenly onto the edge of a vast black lake, its surface still as glass beneath the night sky. Across the water, perched atop a high mountain on the other side, stood Hogwarts Castle, its windows blazing with golden light against the starry sky. Towers and turrets rose from the main structure, their silhouettes breaking the line between earth and stars. The castle seemed to radiate its own magic, a beacon of warmth and promise that drew gasps from even the most composed first-years.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of small wooden boats sitting in the shallows by the shore. Chris moved forward, selecting a boat near the middle of the line and stepping carefully into it. The wood creaked beneath his weight, the boat rocking gently on the dark water.
A girl with strawberry-blonde hair plaited down her back approached his boat, her movements hesitant. "May I join you?" she asked, her voice soft but clear.
"Of course," Chris replied with a smile, offering his hand to help her aboard. "I'm Christopher Emrys, but please, call me Chris."
"Susan Bones," she replied, returning his smile shyly as she settled opposite him. Her fingers were cool against his, and she released his hand quickly once seated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Two more girls approached together, one with blonde pigtails who introduced herself as Hannah Abbott, and another whose elegant bearing and cool expression marked her as someone accustomed to receiving deference.
"Daphne Greengrass," the second girl said simply as she stepped into the boat without assistance, smoothing her robes with practised precision once seated. Her eyes, blue and assessing, studied Chris's unusual appearance with undisguised curiosity.
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then, FORWARD!"
The fleet of boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake's smooth surface without visible propulsion. The water made soft lapping sounds against the wooden hulls, creating a gentle rhythm beneath the awed silence of the first-years. Above them, stars wheeled in a clear night sky, reflected perfectly in the black mirror of the lake until it seemed they were floating through space itself.
As they drifted farther from shore, darkness closed around them completely. The only light came from the distant windows of the castle and Hagrid's lantern in the lead boat, leaving their own vessel in deep shadow. Chris noticed Susan and Hannah leaning slightly closer together, their expressions lost to the darkness.
"Lumos," Chris said quietly, moving his wand in a small, precise circle.
The wand tip ignited with a soft blue-white light, perfectly controlled and steady, illuminating the four faces within the boat without spilling beyond to disrupt the magical atmosphere of the journey. In the wandlight, Susan's eyes widened with appreciation, while Hannah's nervous expression relaxed into a grateful smile.
"That's a first-year charm," Daphne observed, her voice neutral but her gaze sharp. "You've practised before coming to school."
Chris maintained his casual smile. "My family has magical roots," he replied, deliberately vague. "I was curious about the simple spells."
"Your hair is unusual," Susan said, clearly trying to change the subject. "Is it natural?"
Chris nodded, running his free hand through the white strands. "Born with it, though the blue parts appeared when I turned eleven. Some sort of magical manifestation, I believe."
"It's striking," Hannah offered tentatively. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It marks you as someone different," Daphne said, her tone suggesting this could be either advantageous or problematic. "People will remember you."
"I suppose they will," Chris agreed lightly. "Though there's more to a person than their appearance, wouldn't you say?"
The conversation might have continued, but at that moment, Hagrid's voice called out: "Heads down!" as the first boats reached the cliff upon which the castle stood. They bent their heads as the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that concealed a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel that seemed to take them directly underneath the castle, until they reached an underground harbour lit by flickering torches embedded in the rough stone walls.
As they climbed out onto the rocky shore, the scale of their surroundings became apparent. The ceiling of the cavern rose dozens of feet above them, glistening with moisture that caught the torchlight. Ancient stone steps, worn smooth by centuries of first-year feet, led upward into darkness.
"Everyone here?" Hagrid asked, holding his lantern high to check the assembled students. "You there, still got yer toad?"
A round-faced boy nodded, clutching a squirming amphibian to his chest with both hands. Satisfied, Hagrid led them up the stone staircase, their footsteps echoing in the confined space. The girls from Chris's boat stayed close to him, perhaps finding comfort in the proximity of someone who had demonstrated at least some magical competence.
They emerged into the cool night air again, now standing on smooth grass in the shadow of the castle. Even from this close vantage, Hogwarts seemed impossibly tall, its walls stretching upward into darkness, windows glowing like earthbound stars at irregular intervals. Ahead, a flight of stone steps led to a massive oak front door, large enough to admit Hagrid without him needing to duck.
Hagrid raised one enormous fist and knocked three times, the sound reverberating like thunder in the still night air.
The door swung open immediately, revealing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes, her stern face surveying them with piercing eyes that seemed to assess and categorise each student in an instant. Professor McGonagall stood framed in the doorway, straight-backed and imposing, the very embodiment of Hogwarts' authority.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced with a note of pride.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door open wider, revealing the entrance hall beyond, a space so vast it could have swallowed whole houses, lit by flaming torches similar to those in Gringotts. A magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors, while the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right suggested the rest of the school was already gathered.
Instead of leading them directly to join the others, Professor McGonagall showed them into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing closer than they ordinarily might, united momentarily by the nervous anticipation of what was to come. Chris found himself still between Susan and Daphne, Hannah having drifted slightly away toward another cluster of girls.
The moment of the Sorting was nearly upon them, and Chris felt a flutter of anticipation in his stomach. Soon, he would put on the ancient hat that would confirm his placement in an unknow house, the first step in establishing his new identity at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Professor McGonagall stood before them, her emerald robes catching the torchlight as she surveyed the nervous first-years with a gaze that commanded instant silence. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun that emphasised the severe angles of her face, yet Chris detected a hint of warmth beneath her stern exterior, like iron that had been tempered rather than merely hardened. When she spoke, her Scottish accent lent a musical quality to words that nonetheless brooked no argument.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts."
Chris listened with half an ear, his attention divided between McGonagall's familiar speech and the reactions of his fellow first-years. Susan Bones stood close beside him, her shoulders tense but her expression determined. Across the chamber, Harry Potter seemed to be attempting to flatten his unruly hair, a nervous tic that only made it stand up more prominently.
As McGonagall concluded her speech and departed to check on preparations, Chris noted a subtle shift in the chamber's atmosphere. Draco Malfoy, his pale hair slicked back with excessive precision, detached himself from his group and approached Harry Potter with the confident swagger of someone accustomed to respect.
"So it's true then, what they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." Malfoy's voice carried across the chamber, causing heads to turn and whispers to ripple outward like stones dropped in still water. "This is Crabbe and Goyle," he continued, gesturing to the two larger boys flanking him, their expressions suggesting minimal intellectual activity behind their eyes. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
Ron Weasley's poorly suppressed snort earned him a cold glare from the blond boy.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe... you must be a Weasley." Draco turned back to Harry, his posture softening slightly. "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He extended his hand to Harry, who stared at it for a moment before meeting Malfoy's eyes. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," Harry replied quietly, but with unmistakable resolution.
A flush of anger coloured Malfoy's pale cheeks, but before he could respond, Professor McGonagall returned to the chamber. "We're ready for you now," she announced. "Form a line and follow me."
Chris positioned himself in the middle of the line, deliberately placing himself between Susan and Hannah, who had drifted back toward them. The first-years walked out of the chamber, across the flagged stone floor, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Chris had read descriptions of this room, had seen it depicted in the films, but nothing had prepared him for the reality. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air above four long tables, where the rest of the students were seated, their faces turned expectantly toward the newcomers. Gold plates and goblets gleamed in the candlelight, setting the tables ablaze with reflected fire. At the top of the hall, the staff sat at a fifth table facing the students, Dumbledore at the centre in a throne-like chair, his silver beard and half-moon spectacles catching the light.
But it was the ceiling that drew Chris's gaze most powerfully, a velvet black expanse dotted with stars, so perfectly mirroring the night sky outside that it seemed the hall simply opened to the heavens. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," he heard Hermione whisper to another student. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years, and atop it, a pointed wizard's hat, patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Chris studied it with keen interest, the Sorting Hat, one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the wizarding world, capable of peering into minds and judging character.
For a moment, complete silence filled the hall. Then a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all..."
The hat continued its song, describing the four houses and their valued traits: brave Gryffindor, loyal Hufflepuff, wise Ravenclaw, and cunning Slytherin. Chris watched the reactions around the hall, noting how students at each table straightened proudly when their house was mentioned.
As the hat finished its song, the hall burst into applause. It bowed to each of the four tables before becoming still again. Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
The blonde girl who had shared their boat stumbled forward, her pigtails swinging nervously. The hat fell over her eyes when she put it on, and after a moment's pause, it shouted: "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table on the right cheered as Hannah went to join them. Chris watched her take a seat, mentally preparing himself for his own turn.
"Bones, Susan!"
Susan squeezed Chris's arm briefly before walking forward, her strawberry-blonde plait swinging against her back. The hat took only moments before declaring: "HUFFLEPUFF!" She joined Hannah at the yellow-and-black table, both girls now watching the remaining first-years with interest.
Several more students were sorted before McGonagall reached the E's.
"Emrys, Christopher!"
Chris walked forward with measured confidence, his distinctive white-and-blue hair drawing eyes from every table. He sat on the stool and allowed McGonagall to place the hat on his head.
"Well, well, well," a small voice whispered in his mind. "What have we here? An old soul in a young body... and such knowledge! Such power! You could reshape this world with what you carry in your mind."
Chris remained calm, knowing the hat couldn't reveal his secrets. "I seek a place where I can grow and find connections," he thought back.
"Indeed? With your abilities, any house would serve. Ambition enough for Slytherin, certainly. A mind that would honour Ravenclaw. Courage worthy of Gryffindor. But what's this? A desire for genuine friendship, for belonging... and a willingness to work patiently toward your goals. Better be HUFFLEPUFF!"
The last word was shouted to the hall. Chris removed the hat and handed it back to McGonagall with a smile, then walked toward the Hufflepuff table where Susan and Hannah had saved him a space between them.
"Welcome to Hufflepuff," Susan said warmly as he sat down.
"The best house, even if others don't always see it," Hannah added with surprising conviction.
Chris settled in to watch the remaining sortings, clapping politely for each new student regardless of house. His attention sharpened when "Potter, Harry" was called, the hall suddenly buzzing with whispers. Harry walked forward, looking small and uncertain beneath the weight of his fame.
As the hat was lowered onto Harry's head, Chris noticed something that others missed, Dumbledore's subtle movement at the head table, a flick of his wand beneath the table edge, the faintest whisper of magic reaching toward the hat. The hat seemed to twitch slightly at the intrusion, and Chris heard a tiny echo in his own mind: "Not Slytherin... not Slytherin..." followed by the hat's proclamation: "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, the Weasley twins chanting "We got Potter! We got Potter!" But Chris's eyes remained on Dumbledore, whose serene smile contained a hint of satisfaction that confirmed what Chris had already guessed, the headmaster had influenced the Sorting, ensuring Harry went to Gryffindor rather than Slytherin, where the hat might otherwise have placed him.
"Manipulation runs deep," Chris thought, careful to keep his expression neutral. The casual display of control over something as supposedly impartial as the Sorting suggested a Dumbledore who viewed students as pieces on a chessboard rather than individuals with their own destinies.
Yet Chris decided then that he would not interfere. Unless Dumbledore's machinations directly threatened him or those he chose to protect, there was more to gain by observing than by revealing his awareness too soon. Let the headmaster play his games with Harry Potter; Christopher Emrys had his own path to forge.
After the last student was sorted, Dumbledore rose to his feet, arms opened wide in welcome. "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Food appeared on the golden plates, and conversation flowed around Chris as the Hufflepuffs introduced themselves and shared stories of their summers. He participated easily, asking questions that encouraged others to talk while revealing little about himself beyond carefully constructed basics, an orphan raised by distant relatives, excited to learn magic, curious about all aspects of wizarding life.
When the feast concluded and the last crumbs faded from the dessert plates, Dumbledore gave a few start-of-term notices. The Forbidden Forest was, as its name suggested, forbidden. Magic was not to be used in corridors between classes. Quidditch trials would be held in the second week of term. And most curiously, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side was out of bounds to everyone who didn't wish to die a most painful death.
"He's not serious?" Hannah whispered, looking alarmed.
"I believe he is," Chris replied quietly. "Which means we should be extremely careful to avoid that corridor."
As the school rose to sing the Hogwarts song, each to their own preferred tune, creating a chaotic jumble of music that somehow seemed appropriate for the magical chaos of the school itself, Chris found himself smiling genuinely. This was where story met reality for him, the familiar beats of Harry Potter's first year unfolding before him, but now with his own thread woven into the tapestry.
The feast concluded, and a fifth-year prefect named Gabriel Truman led the Hufflepuff first-years from the Great Hall. "Follow me to the common room," he instructed, his friendly face already putting the newcomers at ease. "It's near the kitchens, convenient for midnight snacks, though of course, I'd never encourage rule-breaking." He finished with a wink.
They descended a broad stone staircase to the right of the entrance hall, then followed a corridor decorated with cheerful paintings of food and pastoral scenes. Gabriel stopped before a stack of large barrels in a nook on the right-hand side of the corridor.
"Pay attention to this," he told them. "To enter, tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff.' Get it wrong, and you'll be doused in vinegar."
He demonstrated, tapping five times on the correct barrel. It swung open to reveal a round, earthy passage that sloped upward. They crawled through it, emerging into one of the coziest rooms Chris had ever seen.
The Hufflepuff common room was round and low-ceilinged, reminding Chris of a badger's nest. Yellow hangings, burnished copper, and overstuffed sofas and armchairs upholstered in yellow and black created a sunny, welcoming atmosphere even at night. Round windows at ground level showed rippling grass and dandelions, suggesting the common room was partially underground. Copper pots hung from the ceiling, some containing plants that danced and swayed of their own accord, their leaves casting intricate shadows on the warm wood floors.
"Girls' dormitories to the right, boys' to the left," Gabriel explained. "One of Hufflepuff's special features, each student gets their own room. Small, but private. We believe everyone needs their own space sometimes."
Chris followed the passage to the left, finding a circular hallway with seven doors, each marked with a student's name on a burnished copper plaque. He located his own and pushed the door open to discover a compact but thoughtfully arranged space. A comfortable-looking four-poster bed draped in patchwork quilts dominated one side, while a desk, wardrobe, and small bookshelf occupied the other. A circular window similar to those in the common room provided a view of swaying grass, now silvered by moonlight.
His trunk had already been delivered and sat at the foot of his bed. A small copper lamp on the bedside table cast a warm glow over the room, highlighting the Hufflepuff badger embroidered on the quilt.
Chris changed into his pyjamas and slid beneath the covers, the day's events replaying in his mind. He had confirmed Dumbledore's manipulative nature, made initial connections with possible future friends, and secured his place in Hufflepuff. For a first day, it had gone precisely as he hoped.
As sleep claimed him, his last thought was that the real work, and the real adventure, would begin with tomorrow's classes. For now, though, Christopher Emrys, heir of Merlin, was exactly where he needed to be.