I Feel My Words Have Touched Your Soul (Please Read On)
As Hagrid knocked on the great oak door, it immediately swung open, revealing a tall witch with dark hair pulled into a tight bun, dressed in emerald-green robes.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here," Professor McGonagall said briskly, giving Hagrid a curt nod.
"'Course, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid replied.
The young first-years followed her inside, stepping through a high entrance hall and stopping before the doors of the Great Hall. The ceiling above them soared like a cathedral dome.
Harry, Ron, and the others craned their necks to look around. Hermione, however, was unusually quiet. Since getting off the train, her gaze had barely left Owen.
If not for the irritation smoldering in Owen's eyes, the boy might have thought she was secretly admiring him.
"Welcome to Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall stood before the group, introducing the four Houses and explaining the Sorting.
Stepping into the Great Hall, Owen felt as though he had come home.
Look—those were the familiar ghosts.
Ah—these professors all looked wonderfully normal.
And there—the young wizards, buzzing with life. Especially the Slytherin table: their blended expression of disdain, disgust, and aristocratic pride—
Good heavens! Owen adored them.
This was the feeling.
Hiss~
A chill spread from the top of his head to the soles of his feet—like drinking ice-cold pumpkin juice on a blistering day and then stepping into a freezer.
(PS: Kids, do not test this at home. If you transmigrate, you're on your own.)
How normal Hogwarts is!
I could cry.
"Mr. Sanchez!"
Professor McGonagall paused mid-sentence, noticing the teary-eyed child.
"What's the matter? Are you unwell?" she asked, concerned.
"No, Professor," Owen sniffled, wiping at his eyes. "I'm just… really excited to be here at Hogwarts. And it's so nice to meet you."
Good heavens.
What an innocent child.
Surely he would be quiet, reserved, well-behaved in the future.
A softened warmth flickered in McGonagall's eyes.
If only she could recruit one more sensible child for Gryffindor…
Her gaze drifted to her House table—where two identical redheads were currently reenacting a silent comedy routine.
Yes… her House could use a calm one.
"You don't need to be sad," she said gently, ruffling Owen's hair. Her stern expression softened. "I believe you'll be very happy here."
"Yes, Professor," Owen replied sweetly.
Happy?
Oh, he would absolutely be happy.
Hehe.
Hermione shot him a look so disdainful it could peel paint off the walls.
McGonagall cleared her throat, regaining her usual composure. She unrolled the parchment in her hands.
"When I call your name, please put on the hat and sit on the stool. Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-cheeked girl with blond pigtails stumbled forward.
"Hufflepuff!" the Hat shouted instantly.
"Susan Bones!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Terry Boot!"
"Ravenclaw!"
Applause rose from the second table on the left as Terry joined them, several students standing to shake his hand.
"Owen Sanchez."
McGonagall's tone gentled slightly.
Owen's cheeks warmed. One of the rare times he felt a pinch of guilt.
He hardened his heart, sat on the stool, and placed the very old, very dusty Hat on his head.
A voice murmured in his ear.
"Oh! Another troublesome little fellow," the Sorting Hat crooned. It spoke with a musical lilt—almost soothing.
"Plenty of talent… ambition… intelligence. And courage too. Several Houses would suit you."
"So—"
"Nurmengard," Owen whispered in his mind.
Azkaban would be too awkward—far too many acquaintances there.
"…What?"
The Hat paused for a solid thirty seconds.
Then in a horrified whisper:
"Child… how could you think of such a place? Do you even know what Nurmengard is?"
"Yes. Like Azkaban—used to imprison dark wizards."
"As the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, I cannot sort you into a prison!" the Hat snapped.
"Ahem—Mr. Sorting Hat, is it possible—and I'm just suggesting—that most wizards in Azkaban went to Hogwarts?
So isn't it reasonable to consider Azkaban the unofficial fifth House?"
"???"
Even McGonagall's brows shot up as she stared at him like she'd just discovered a criminal mastermind.
Did she truly think this child would be obedient a moment ago?
For the first time in years, she questioned her judgment.
"Good heavens! How did you reach such a conclusion? Merlin's beard—what did your parents teach you about the magical world?" the Hat cried.
"Ah—well—I don't have parents."
"…"
The Hat's voice cracked.
Well. That was a fatal blow.
Sigh. Honesty really was dangerous these days.
But then again, a thousand-year-old hat was bound to have emotional wear and tear.
"I'm fine!" the Hat barked defensively. "Absolutely fine!"
Uh-huh.
"Still," the Hat muttered, "since Hogwarts was founded, no young wizard has ever said such things to me."
"Thank you for the compliment."
"That was NOT a compliment!"
The Hat let out a long-suffering groan.
"I originally believed Slytherin would be perfect for your talents."
"But now—after thinking about your future—I cannot in good conscience put you there."
"Mr. Hat, can I sue you for discrimination?" Owen asked calmly. He turned toward the Slytherin table. "Does entering Slytherin automatically make one a dark wizard? Not all prisoners in Azkaban were Slytherins. Some were Gryffindors too."
"You—! Do you truly understand the Founders' intentions?"
"You're the one who just discriminated against the entire Slytherin House!"
"Does Salazar know?"
"Are four tiny founders fighting in your head right now?"
"Mr. Hat? …Mr. Hat? Are you broken?"
"I knew it. After a thousand years, something had to give."
————
"Minerva!" the Hat suddenly shrieked.
"Quick! Get me off this brat's head!"