And at the center of it all, Dumbledore— a name with well over a dozen titles attached to him. Grand Sorcerer. Supreme Mugwump. Chief Warlock. The list went on. Alchemy, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, all at a level most wizards spend their whole lives chasing.
Across his long life, he had faced two Dark Lords, one he outright defeated, and the second was rumored to be so afraid of him that he avoided him entirely, unwilling to risk a direct confrontation.
Genuinely amazing, all of them. Decades of study and practice stood behind each one.
If he could somehow see their stat— Intelligence, Magic, laid out the way his own were, he suspected they would all be near the limit of what a human could reach. Decades of study, experience, and precise control helped them achieve their current standing.
At the front of the hall, past the staff table, a plain wooden stool held a patched, ancient-looking hat.
The hall quieted as a seam near its brim split open, and the hat drew in a breath none of them could see and began, unmistakably, to sing.
"You may think I'm not pretty, but—"
The Sorting Hat finished its song to a round of enthusiastic applause from the four house tables. As the echoes faded, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling a long scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall announced crisply.
She began reading down the list.
"Abbott, Amelia!" A pause, barely three seconds. "RAVENCLAW!"
"Ashworth, Rosalind!" Rosalind strode up without a hint of nerves, sat, and had the hat barely settle before it called, "Gryffindor!" She shot Aegeus a quick, satisfied look on her way past.
"Bole, Lucian!" The stool creaked under a heavyset boy for nearly a full minute before, "SLYTHERIN!"
"Granger, Aegeus!"
At the sound of his name, a sudden lull washed over the hall. As Aegeus stepped out from the line, conversations at the long tables flickered out. Whispers spread like wildfire across the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin tables alike.
"Is that him?"
"The guy who looks like a veela?"
"He's not bad. A little worse than me, though."
Aegeus ignored the stares and glided up the stone steps, his dark robes swishing around his ankles, and took his seat on the wooden stool.
Professor McGonagall lowered the ancient hat onto his head. The moment the inner brim touched him, the heavy fabric felt warm against his scalp.
My, my, my... a small voice murmured, echoing directly behind his eyes. Now this is interesting. I don't believe I've read a mind quite like yours in a long, long time.
Aegeus instinctively tried to shield his thoughts— to pull his thoughts inward— but the magic woven into the worn leather didn't seem to care for such a flimsy attempt.
Let's see... The voice drifted through his consciousness, calm and agonizingly patient. Aegeus felt the distinct, deeply uncomfortable sensation of something sifting through years of memories, like fingers trailing across cataloged files. A sharp mind. Quiet, calculated. A remarkable desire for order, and ambition...
And here— ah. There it is.
The pressure in his mind sharpened, focused, like a hand closing around something small and bright.
You are cautious— but rarely for your own sake... You would hold a fire with your bare hands rather than let it spread... Without calculating the cost to yourself.
Ah, how nostalgic. You remind me so very much of him. That foolish, noble boy...
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat bellowed to the hall.
The Gryffindor table erupted into applause. Aegeus slid off the stool, handed the hat back to McGonagall, and made his way toward the cheering table. He sat next to Rosalind, several students already shifting aside to make room.
"Hale, Marcus!" Marcus swaggered up as if he had already decided the outcome, and the hat didn't disagree. "GRYFFINDOR!" He dropped into the other seat beside Aegeus a minute later, grinning.
"Bletchley, Miles!" — "SLYTHERIN!"
A few more names passed in quick succession— Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor again— the hall settling into the rhythm of applause and shuffling feet, until the list ran out of names.
Professor McGonagall rolled the scroll shut and carried the hat and stool away.
"Charlie Weasley," said a broad-shouldered boy across the table, offering a hand. "Fifth-year prefect. Welcome to Gryffindor."
"Aegeus Granger." He shook it once, firm and brief.
At the front of the hall. Dumbledore rose from the center of the staff table, and the last of the chatter died on its own. He had a long silver beard, half-moon spectacles perched low on his nose.
"Welcome," he said, spreading his arms as though he was greeting some long-unseen old friends, "to another year at Hogwarts."
"That's all I have," Dumbledore said, settling back into his chair. "Tuck in."
The empty plates in front of them filled at once— roast chicken, potatoes, thick gravy, mountains of vegetables, followed by pies and puddings.
Aegeus took a bite of roast chicken and found it surprisingly excellent.
As for Marcus, he, without any hesitation, began building something that could generously be called a plate and less generously called a mountain of food.
As the start-of-term feast materialized in a grand display of roasted meats and golden potatoes, the older Gryffindors around Aegeus immediately engaged him in conversation.
'Ah!'
Someone let out a scream. So did the people around him. A translucent figure streamed through the back wall, followed shortly by another, then several more, gliding between the tables and greeting old acquaintances. One of them— a cheerful-looking man in a ruff floated down toward the first-years.
"Welcome, welcome," he said warmly. "New blood, eh? You are lucky. You will get the best seat in the house, and you don't have to compete for the pudding."
Aegeus looked curiously at the ghost and couldn't help but ask.
"Are you attached to the school, or the house? And how much of your senses do you still retain? Do you have feelings?"
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TO BE CONTINUED
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