"Looks like I should be able to go to Gryffindor," Tyler said.
He stood before the whole school with the Sword of Gryffindor in one hand and the Sorting Hat in the other, smiling as he looked toward Dumbledore. The old Headmaster remained at the front of the Great Hall, his blue eyes bright behind his half-moon spectacles. Around them, the hall still buzzed with stunned whispers, because no one had expected a first year to pull a legendary sword out of the Sorting Hat.
For Tyler, the house itself did not matter quite as much as everyone assumed. Jamie had chosen Slytherin, which meant Tyler had no need to follow him there. That left Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, and each had its own advantages. Gryffindor had Harry Potter and the main current of the story, Ravenclaw had its clever students and private library, and Hufflepuff was known for loyalty, patience, and a friendly atmosphere that made life easier.
If he had failed to draw the Sword of Gryffindor, Tyler would have chosen Ravenclaw without much regret. But since the sword had answered him, Gryffindor was not a bad choice either. The house was often mocked as reckless, loud, and full of people who ran headfirst into danger without thinking, but that was only the shallowest version of its reputation.
If Gryffindor truly produced only foolish daredevils, then wizards like Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall would never have come from it. Real Gryffindor courage was not stupidity. At its best, it was bravery guided by judgment, pride balanced by conscience, and the willingness to stand firm when fear would have made retreat easier.
The same was true of Slytherin in reverse. Its reputation had been badly damaged by dark wizards like Voldemort and many of his Death Eaters, but that did not mean the house itself was evil. Gryffindor had produced Peter Pettigrew, and Ravenclaw had produced Quirinus Quirrell. No house had a monopoly on virtue or corruption.
The four houses were not good or bad by themselves. Witches and wizards were.
"Yes, Tyler," Dumbledore said warmly. "If you were able to draw the Sword of Gryffindor, then you are certainly suited to Gryffindor."
"The Sword of Gryffindor," Tyler said, lifting the blade slightly so the candlelight ran along its edge. "This is the sword left behind by Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, his gaze resting on the rubies set in the hilt. "It seems you know a great many things. This is indeed the Sword of Gryffindor."
"Legend says Godric Gryffindor was a powerful wizard and a natural warrior," Tyler said. "A wand in one hand, a sword in the other, and nearly unbeatable in battle."
He studied the sword with open interest. It had been forged by goblins, and the craftsmanship showed in every line. The blade was narrow, elegant, and brutally sharp, while the hilt gleamed with rubies that gave it a noble, almost ceremonial beauty. It was clearly a Western blade in style, not exactly the kind Tyler personally favoured, but there was no denying its quality.
The whole Great Hall watched him examine it. Some students looked fascinated, others nervous, and several professors seemed unsure whether they should stop him from holding such a dangerous relic. Professor McGonagall, in particular, had gone rigid beside the stool.
Tyler shifted his grip, tested the weight, and gave the Sword of Gryffindor a few light practice swings. The blade moved smoothly through the air, drawing silver arcs beneath the floating candles. Then, before anyone could react, he turned and slashed toward the four-legged stool.
"Mr Blake!" Professor McGonagall gasped.
Her warning came too late. The Sword of Gryffindor sliced down in a clean flash and split the stool neatly in half. The two pieces fell apart on the stone floor with a dull crack, and a wave of startled cries rippled through all four long tables.
Even Dumbledore blinked. The strike had been so sudden that he had not had time to stop it, though his expression quickly returned to calm amusement. Professor McGonagall, however, looked as though Tyler had just removed several years from her life.
"It really is a fine sword," Tyler said appreciatively.
He was not lying. The style was not his favourite, but the sharpness, balance, and magical quality of the blade were excellent. A weapon like this deserved its legend, especially if it could appear to those who were worthy of Gryffindor when they truly needed it.
"Mr Headmaster," Tyler asked, turning toward Dumbledore, "do you know how to use a sword?"
"Oh, your swordwork is quite good," Dumbledore said, recovering fully. His eyes twinkled faintly as he looked at the cut stool. "It seems you have practised. I did study some swordplay when I was young, though age has made my body less eager than it once was."
"Tyler, put the sword down," Professor McGonagall said quickly. Her voice was controlled, but the urgency beneath it was obvious. "The Sword of Gryffindor is not a toy. It is far too dangerous to swing about in the Great Hall."
"Sorry, Professor McGonagall," Tyler said. "I've heard of the Sword of Gryffindor for so long that I couldn't resist testing it."
He turned and offered the sword to Dumbledore with both hands. Dumbledore accepted it carefully, and the rubies on the hilt gleamed between them. The Headmaster watched Tyler closely, as if every small movement revealed something worth remembering.
"Actually, I like swords very much," Tyler said. "Mr Headmaster, since you said you studied swordplay when you were young, your skill must be quite good. If you have time, could you teach me?"
Dumbledore looked down at the sword, then at Tyler. A mischievous little smile touched his face, so quick that some might have missed it. "If there is time, of course."
"Thank you, Mr Headmaster."
"But for now," Dumbledore continued, "you should go to the Gryffindor table. The Sorting Ceremony still has to continue, and I suspect the students are becoming hungry."
Professor McGonagall's expression suggested that hunger was not her main concern. Still, the ceremony had already been delayed by a cleaned and perfumed Sorting Hat, Dumbledore's unusual reactions, Jamie's choice of Slytherin, and now the sudden appearance of a legendary sword. She looked as though she badly wanted the evening to become ordinary again, even if only for ten minutes.
"Of course," Tyler said.
Before leaving, he raised his wand toward the ruined stool. The two halves lay on the floor, cleanly cut by the Sword of Gryffindor. Tyler gave a neat flick and spoke the incantation clearly.
"Reparo."
The Mending Charm took hold at once. The split pieces pulled themselves together, cracks sealing, wood smoothing, and legs straightening until the stool stood whole again. A few students murmured appreciatively, though after everything Tyler had already done, even a first-year casting Reparo seemed almost modest.
"A perfect Mending Charm," Dumbledore said with a smile.
"Thank you for the praise, Mr Headmaster," Tyler replied.
Then, as if repairing the stool were not enough, he waved his wand again. The plain four-legged stool twisted, expanded, and reshaped itself under a clean Transfiguration. In moments, it had become a comfortable leather armchair, polished, sturdy, and entirely out of place in the middle of the Sorting Ceremony.
"I've always found Transfiguration interesting," Tyler said lightly. "When I was bored at home, I taught myself a few spells and practised a little. It looks as though the results are decent."
He did not wait to see everyone's reaction. With a polite nod to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, he turned and walked toward the Gryffindor table.
The Great Hall stared after him. Professor McGonagall, in particular, looked openly astonished now. She was Hogwarts's Transfiguration professor, and she knew exactly how difficult that spell should have been. That level of Transfiguration was beyond many older students, never mind a first year who had not yet attended a single lesson.
"Professor Dumbledore…" she began, still looking at the leather armchair.
Dumbledore appeared calm, but his eyes held a thoughtful brightness as he studied the chair. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it hidden behind his familiar gentle smile. The old Headmaster had seen many talented students in his life, but Tyler Blake was proving unusual even by Hogwarts standards.
"Oh, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said mildly, "there are always geniuses in the world, are there not?"
He turned and began walking back toward the staff table, though he paused briefly beside the transformed chair. The leather surface was smooth, the structure stable, and the change showed no immediate sign of collapsing. For a self-taught first year, it was excellent work.
"Perfect Transfiguration," Dumbledore said. "I think I may award twenty points to Gryffindor."
If Tyler had not yet been Sorted, awarding points would have been awkward. Now, however, Tyler Blake belonged to Gryffindor, and Dumbledore could naturally give Gryffindor extra points.
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