The train slowed, gradually losing speed. Outside the window, there was pitch darkness, broken only by occasional flashes of light from approaching carriages and silhouettes that seemed to belong to enormous, ancient trees. In the air, even through the closed compartment windows, there was a coolness and dampness typical of late evening.
"We're arriving," Stephen stated, carefully closing his notebook. He adjusted his school robe, which they had put on before disembarking. The robe was practical, but its excessive length seemed to him superfluous and potentially hazardous when moving. He already foresaw a statistical increase in falls on Hogwarts staircases due to this design flaw.
The train finally stopped with a gentle jolt. The compartment doors swung open, and a wave of noise rolled down the corridor. Children noisily spilled out of the carriages, hurrying outside.
"Well, let's go," Harry said, his voice trembling with excitement. Ron looked just as thrilled.
They stepped out onto the cold platform. Stephen, accustomed to city lights, squinted. It was very dark all around, with only a few dim lanterns illuminating the path. He heard a familiar voice echo above the clamor of the crowd.
"First years! First years, over here!"
Stephen turned his head. Through the crowd, he saw an enormous, gigantic figure towering over everyone. The man was incredibly tall, with long, disheveled hair and a beard that covered almost his entire face. He held a lantern that cast strange shadows. He exuded a kind of primal strength, but also surprising warmth.
"That's Hagrid," Harry whispered, his eyes gleaming. "I've met him."
Stephen instantly switched into analysis mode. This was the giant who had brought Harry from the Muggle world. His physical parameters clearly exceeded standard human norms.
"What is his biological classification?" Stephen muttered. "Genetic mutation? Or a separate subspecies of Homo sapiens?"
"First years! Follow me, everyone!" Hagrid bellowed, his voice as loud as the roar of a giant animal.
Stephen, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who appeared beside them, having clearly returned Neville's toad, joined the group of first years that slowly moved behind Hagrid along a narrow, muddy path. Stephen noted that the path was unlit and potentially dangerous for a large gathering of children. This was inefficient route planning.
"Come on, folks! Keep up!" Hagrid urged.
Soon, the path led them to the edge of a cliff. Before them lay an incredible sight. Across a wide, black lake, atop a high cliff, stood an enormous, majestic castle, illuminated by hundreds of lights. Its towers and spires stretched high into the dark sky, as if piercing the stars. This was Hogwarts.
Even Stephen, usually not prone to emotional impulses, felt a slight distortion in his logical perception. The castle was too grand, too complex, and too massive to be merely an architectural structure.
"The scale of the construction exceeds all known engineering capabilities of the Muggle world," he muttered. "And the source of constant illumination remains undefined. This indicates an autonomous energy system or continuous magical maintenance."
"Wow!" Harry gasped. Ron looked just as stunned. Hermione, though she tried to hide it, also gazed at the castle with awe.
"Alright, into the boats!" Hagrid commanded again. "No more than four to a boat!"
Stephen, Harry, Ron, and Hermione got into one of the small boats that seemed to magically bob on the dark water by themselves. The boat was old and a bit shaky, but to Stephen's surprise, it moved through the water without any visible propulsion.
"The operating principle of the boat is unclear," he murmured. "Absence of oars or a motor. Perhaps it's telekinetic manipulation, centrally controlled."
They crossed the lake, and the sound of voices echoed off the castle walls. As they approached the cliff, they saw a huge underground dock, lit by torches. The boats moored, and Hagrid led them along a narrow path that led deeper into the cliff.
They walked through a dark tunnel that smelled of dampness and old stone. Then they began to ascend a narrow staircase carved into the rock. Finally, they emerged at a huge oak door leading into the castle itself.
Hagrid raised his enormous fist and knocked three times on the door. Almost immediately, the door swung open, and a tall, stern woman in emerald green robes appeared on the threshold. This was Professor McGonagall. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her sharp eyes seemed capable of piercing one's very soul.
"First years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here," McGonagall said. She opened the door wider, and the first years entered a vast entrance hall.
The hall was spacious, with high ceilings that seemed to disappear somewhere in the darkness. Huge torches burned along the walls, casting flickering light on the stone. A wide marble staircase led up before them.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said, her voice stern, but with a hint of something else, perhaps anticipation. "You will soon be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important moment, for while you are here, your house will be like your family. With your housemates, you will learn, eat, sleep, and spend your free time."
Stephen listened carefully.
"Group sorting system," he whispered into his notebook. "Purpose: to create team cohesion and improve the learning process. Methodology currently unknown."
Professor McGonagall continued:
"Each house has its own ancient and noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, and any rule-breaking will result in their loss. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup."
Her gaze swept over the children's faces.
"The Sorting Ceremony will begin in a few minutes in the Great Hall. Until then, please wait here."
Stephen noticed her eyes linger for a fraction of a second on Harry, and almost imperceptibly, but with clear approval, glance at himself. Perhaps information about his unexpected use of Accio had already reached her ears.
As soon as Professor McGonagall left them alone, a tall, pale boy with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp, arrogant expression stepped out from the crowd of first years. Stephen, Harry, and Ron recognized him immediately. It was Draco Malfoy.
"So it's true," Malfoy drawled, his voice thick with condescension. His eyes settled on Harry, then on Stephen, who stood beside him. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."
His gaze shifted to Ron.
"And this must be a Weasley," Malfoy clearly sneered. "You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to make friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He extended his hand to Harry.
"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
Harry, though looking a bit puzzled, did not shake his hand.
"I'll decide who my friends are," he replied firmly.
Malfoy, reddening slightly, withdrew his hand, his arrogance instantly replaced by annoyance. His gaze fell on Stephen.
"And you? Who are you? Another Weasley, perhaps?" Malfoy seemed unable to believe that anyone not from his family could have arrived in such a limousine.
Stephen, who had been carefully observing this social interaction, noted a clear display of class hierarchy and an attempt at dominance. He considered Malfoy's reasoning logically flawed and ineffective for forming productive relationships. Malfoy clearly needed a demonstration of real value and capabilities.
Stephen's face remained unperturbed, but his eyes narrowed. He didn't draw a wand. He didn't speak words. He simply focused all his will and an inexplicable, not yet fully understood power, directing it at Draco Malfoy.
An invisible but overwhelming aura erupted from Stephen, enveloping Malfoy. Draco suddenly staggered, his face paled, and his eyes widened with incomprehension and absolute terror. He felt the air around him grow heavy, almost tangible, as if an invisible press was squeezing him from all sides. His breath caught, and his head rang. Something ancient and powerful seemed to have touched him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his meticulous hairstyle instantly fell apart, turning into messy, matted strands, making his face even more elongated and pathetic. He couldn't understand what was happening, but instinctively felt an incredible, overwhelming force emanating from the calm, unperturbed Stephen.
The children around, though not feeling the aura as acutely as Malfoy, sensed a sudden change in the atmosphere: a strange, inexplicable chill that went to their bones, and a tense silence that fell over the entrance hall. They saw Malfoy suddenly stumble backward, his face contorted with fright, and his hairstyle completely lose its neatness, as if he had just experienced something terrible. Whispers and giggles died out. Everyone's gaze was now fixed on Stephen, their eyes a mixture of reverent fear and stunned admiration.
Stephen's expression didn't change. He simply held his gaze.
"I am Stephen Strange," he said, his voice even, but now with a note of unwavering confidence and hidden threat. "My social standing and financial status have no bearing on my intellectual value or potential for learning. I prefer my capabilities to be judged by actual achievements, not by genealogical tables or superficial judgments. Your opinion is incorrect and without foundation."
Malfoy tried to speak, but only an incoherent mumble escaped his mouth. He was completely disoriented and terrified. The other first years, though not feeling the physical pressure, now looked at Stephen with a completely different expression—a mixture of apprehension and admiration. This wasn't just another newcomer; this was someone who possessed an extraordinary, intuitive power, capable of acting without visible words or movements.
Before Malfoy could react in any way, Professor McGonagall returned.
"We are ready for you," she said, her gaze instantly sweeping over a pale and disheveled Malfoy, then lingering on Stephen with a perceptiveness that revealed an instantaneous understanding of what had transpired. For a moment, something akin to seriousness, mixed with deep interest, flickered in her eyes. "Follow me."
Stephen, utterly unperturbed, followed McGonagall, alongside Harry and Ron, who were still exchanging astonished glances. Whatever awaited them next, he was ready to analyze it and, if necessary, adjust it with effective methods, now knowing that his arsenal included more fundamental means of influence than just spells.