The fog lay thick over the lake, curling low like breath on glass. Elias stepped carefully into the rocking boat, settling in beside three other boys who looked as uncertain as the storm-lit sky above.
"Four to a boat!" came the booming reminder from Hagrid, torchlight glinting off the surface of the black water.
Across from Elias sat Neville Longbottom, wide-eyed and clinging to a toad that clearly wanted nothing to do with this journey. Next to Neville sat a red-haired boy—Ron Weasley, if Elias had his timeline right. And beside Elias, stiff-backed and scanning the dark like a nervous hawk, sat Harry Potter.
The Boy Who Lived.
Elias watched him from the corner of his eye. Messy hair, broken glasses, lightning scar mostly hidden beneath bangs. There was nothing remarkable about his presence—nothing glowing or magical. He just looked… tired. Smaller than the myth that surrounded him.
But everyone was watching him.
The moment Harry had stepped off the train, whispers had followed him like a cloak. Girls giggling. Boys squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of the scar. Elias had seen a few older students pointing as well—half curious, half reverent.
It reminded him of celebrities in his past life.
Fame without context is just noise, Elias thought.
Harry didn't seem to enjoy the attention. Not yet. Not like he would later.
The boat jerked forward suddenly, gliding soundlessly over the water. Beneath them, the lake rippled like glass, dark and unfathomable. The reflection of the castle shimmered on its surface, each spire and window a golden smudge of light.
Hogwarts loomed ahead—magnificent, timeless, untouched by modernity. The drawbridge was down, the great gate lit by torches and glowing runes.
It was happening. The journey of thousands. But only a few would remember it clearly.
🧙♀️ Professor McGonagall's Welcome
Once they stepped off the boats, the first-years were led through a stone tunnel and up a steep flight of steps, the sound of their footsteps echoing.
At the top stood a tall woman in emerald robes and a sharp expression that could probably stop time.
"I am Professor McGonagall," she said briskly. "Deputy Headmistress. You are about to enter the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony. But before you do, I must impress upon you the importance of house points, punctuality, and proper conduct."
Her tone allowed no misunderstanding.
"While here at Hogwarts, your house will be your family—your pride, your success, your reputation. Misbehavior will be punished. Excellence will be rewarded."
Elias listened, calm and straight-spined, committing every rule to memory, even the ones she didn't say aloud. There was a rhythm to McGonagall's authority—precise, unyielding, but fair. He could respect that.
The group remained silent until a pale, drawling voice broke the tension.
"So this is it? Doesn't look like much," sneered Draco Malfoy, eyes flicking across the group. He gave Harry a particularly long stare. "Thought the Boy-Who-Lived would be taller."
Harry stared back, unsure whether to laugh or fight.
Elias kept his silence. He recognized the posturing—Draco was performing, testing the waters, seeing who would follow him.
Malfoy's gaze drifted over to Elias.
"Blake, isn't it?" he said, tone shifting slightly. "My father said your father's made quite the stir in International Affairs. And the Department of Mysteries… fascinating. Shame he never shows his face."
Elias raised a brow. "Perhaps he prefers accomplishments over appearances."
Malfoy's smirk tightened.
Elias filed it away—another thread for later.
👻 Ghosts and Murmurs
Before they were led into the Great Hall, something strange happened.
The temperature dropped.
A moment later, a half-dozen translucent figures glided through the stone wall, one of them—a jolly man with a ruffled collar—beaming at the crowd.
"New students! How delightful!" the Fat Friar exclaimed.
Elias studied the ghosts as they floated by. The Grey Lady. The Bloody Baron. Nearly Headless Nick.
Spectral echoes of history, he thought. But they weren't just relics—they had political leanings, loyalties. Even the ghosts weren't neutral in Hogwarts.
Nick hovered near a few Gryffindor-bound students, including a very nervous Neville. "Don't worry," he said cheerfully. "The hat hasn't bitten anyone in years."
A few students looked alarmed. Elias simply stored the detail.
Then, the doors to the Great Hall swung open.
🏰 The Great Hall Revealed
Light burst into the corridor—golden and warm. Four long tables stretched beneath a ceiling that mirrored the dusky, star-lit sky outside. Candles floated above them, flames steady despite the drafts.
At the far end, a raised platform held the staff table. Dumbledore sat at the center, resplendent in purple robes, beard flowing like a storybook king.
He radiated something Elias recognized instantly—not just power, but presence. The kind of influence that didn't need to speak to command a room. Everyone looked at him and saw what they wanted to see—kindness, wisdom, mystery.
But Elias had seen Dumbledore from other angles. Through history. Through fiction. Through manipulation.
There are three pillars of power in the British Wizarding World, Elias recalled.
The Ministry of Magic – Bureaucracy and law. Shifting, dangerous, and easily corrupted.
The Ancient Houses – Wealth and bloodlines. Silent wars beneath polite smiles.
Hogwarts – Tradition. Influence. Ideology.
Dumbledore stood at the crossroads of all three.
Not just the Headmaster.
The chessmaster.
🎩 The Sorting Begins
A small wooden stool was placed at the front of the hall. Upon it, the Sorting Hat—a battered, wrinkled thing—shook slightly, then opened its seam to sing.
Its voice echoed, strong and knowing, across every table. Elias listened carefully. The lyrics spoke of unity, bravery, wit, loyalty, and ambition. But more than that, the Hat hinted at tension. Subtle warnings, veiled behind rhyme.
When it finished, McGonagall unrolled the scroll.
Names began.
"Hannah Abbott."
"Gryffindor!"
"Terry Boot."
"Ravenclaw!"
"Millicent Bulstrode."
"Slytherin!"
One by one, the students were called. Cheers followed each placement, though they varied in volume.
Then came—
"Potter, Harry."
The hall froze. Everyone leaned forward.
Harry walked slowly to the stool, nervous. The Hat barely touched his head before shouting:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Cheers erupted. Loudest from the red-and-gold table. Fred and George Weasley let out identical whoops.
Elias studied the reactions carefully.
The first domino falls…
He didn't have long to think. McGonagall's voice rang out again.
"Blake, Elias."
Silence returned.
Every head turned.
The boy with the haunting eyes and graceful walk moved forward.
The Sorting Hat waited.
And Elias sat.