At Hogwarts with Academic Master System

[Note: Read up to Chapter - 91 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]

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Beneath the soft glow of moonlight, the ancient castle loomed ahead, cloaked in shadows and mystery.

Hogwarts stood proud and timeless, as though it had always been there—quietly waiting for each new generation of young witches and wizards to come and uncover its secrets.

Roughly half an hour later, the first-years finally crossed the Black Lake and reached the shore.

They trudged along a long wooden pier, then began the climb up an equally long staircase, winding their way towards the castle's grand entrance.

"Everyone, gather 'round!"

Professor McGonagall's sharp voice rang out across the steps, cutting through the excited chatter.

She stood at the top, watching as the wide-eyed newcomers shuffled into place.

With a stern expression, she counted them one by one, making sure no one had gone wandering off before giving a small, satisfied nod.

"Right, listen carefully," she said. "In a moment, you'll be walking through those doors.

You'll each be taking a brief assessment—nothing to worry about—and once that's done, you'll officially be part of Hogwarts."

"So when the doors open, please form an orderly line and follow me inside."

With that, Professor McGonagall gave one last sweeping glance over the group before turning towards Mr. Filch, the castle caretaker, who was hovering nearby.

She seemed to be checking whether the evening's feast preparations were running to schedule.

"Oi, Ron—looks like you were right," Harry whispered, his voice low and slightly uneasy.

"There really is some kind of test before we're allowed in?"

Ron swallowed nervously. "Fred said it might be a fight... with a troll."

Harry's eyes widened. "A troll!?"

Ron looked a bit green. "Could be worse. Could be a dragon..."

Nearby, Hermione frowned, clearly unimpressed, though even she looked a bit tense.

"How ridiculous," she muttered, but there was a flicker of worry in her eyes.

Around them, murmurs began spreading through the group.

"I can't fight a monster! I'll get torn to bits!"

"If my mum knew this was gonna happen, she'd never have let me come!"

"Erm… excuse me, is it too late to go home now? I really don't fancy fighting a troll!!"

The nervous chatter among the first-years grew louder as Ronald's words seemed to echo through the group.

Most of them hadn't the faintest idea what this so-called test involved, but they were already bricking it.

"If it really is a giant troll," Harry muttered, glancing sideways, "I reckon Aris is the only one here who's got a chance."

He looked over at Aris, who was clearly trying not to laugh.

"Ignorant," came Malfoy's voice, sharp and smug, from the other side.

Harry spun round at once. "Oh really? D'you reckon you could take on a troll then?"

Malfoy's face twitched slightly at the mention of the word troll, but he quickly covered it with a sneer.

"Only someone completely daft would think the Hogwarts entrance test involves fighting a troll," he sniffed.

"If it did, my father would've never let me set foot near the place."

"Then tell us, Malfoy," Harry shot back, "has your dad ever told you what the real test is? Or is he too busy polishing your family crest?"

The tension was crackling now—Harry and Malfoy glaring at each other like they were about to come to blows.

Even Ron had puffed up beside Harry, ready to jump in.

Just then, Professor McGonagall, who'd been speaking with Filch, turned her head sharply at the commotion.

Before she could step in, Aris let out a sigh and tapped both boys on the head, not too gently.

"Oh, give it a rest, will you? Every time you lot get within arm's reach, it turns into a row."

He stepped between them, pushing Harry and Malfoy apart like a fed-up prefect, then added flatly:

"You'll find out what the test is soon enough. Until then, winding yourselves up over it won't do anything but make you look daft."

Both boys shut their mouths instantly.

Even Ron, who'd been grumbling moments ago, stared down at his shoes.

Clearly, no one fancied arguing with Aris—not when he had that look.

And truth be told, he did have a point.

As soon as Aris finished speaking, Professor McGonagall appeared to have received a signal. She turned briskly and made her way over.

"Children, the Sorting Ceremony is about to begin. Please follow me into the entrance hall!"

With that, she gently tugged the young witch standing at the front and led the way inside.

Filch, the dour caretaker, scurried forward and began pulling open the massive doors to the Great Hall. The way he strained made it clear they were far heavier than they looked.

The first-years shuffled in behind McGonagall, filing into the entrance hall with wide eyes and hushed whispers.

On either side of the hall, students from the four Houses sat at their long tables, already watching the new arrivals with interest. Curious eyes followed every step the first-years took.

As they passed the Gryffindor table, Ron got his hair yanked by one of his older brothers, much to his annoyance.

Harry, no longer trembling with nerves, gazed around the towering hall in wonder, especially drawn to the ceiling overhead.

"The Great Hall's ceiling is enchanted," came Hermione's voice, ever eager to share what she'd read. "It mimics the sky outside — stars, clouds, weather — anything. Just like the decorations around us, they can change at will!"

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" she added, clearly quoting straight from Hogwarts: A History.

"It really is," Aris nodded, his voice soft.

Since setting foot inside the castle, a quiet emotion had stirred in his chest — something warm and reverent.

Like a long-awaited pilgrim finally standing at the gates of a sacred temple.

The sight he had once seen only in dreams was now real, unfolding before his very eyes. The ancient stone, the candlelight, the whispers of old magic in the air — it all felt surreal.

It was as if the entire castle was opening itself to him, calling out to him with silent, affectionate warmth.

Welcoming him home.

"Hello, Hogwarts," Aris whispered under his breath.

Aris looked up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and smiled.

In that moment, all his worries and troubles seemed to melt away.

A pure, comforting energy wrapped around him — as if the very magic of the castle was washing over his soul, cleansing it.

For once, he didn't want to stand apart. He didn't want to be exceptional or distant. He simply wanted to blend in with the other first-years, to feel what they felt.

Because Ron's hair was a mess and he was grinning like an idiot, Aris found himself laughing too.

He widened his eyes in wonder, gasping at the grandeur of the castle just like the rest of them.

It was as if he were an ordinary child again, stepping into a fantastical garden from his dreams — eager to explore, to uncover hidden marvels, and to chase the mystery of it all.

Then, as the last of the first-years filtered in, a strange singing filled the hall.

Aris turned his gaze forward.

At the front of the room, just beneath the teachers' dais, sat a battered old hat resting on a high, square stool.

The voice — tuneful and scratchy — was coming from the hat itself.

The Sorting Hat had begun its song.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don' t judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There' s nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can' t see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor ,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don' t be afraid!

And don' t get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The Sorting Hat's song wasn't exactly easy on the ears — a bit scratchy and drawn-out — and most of the first-years looked mildly uncomfortable. But none of them dared interrupt.

After all, no one knew what might happen if they offended a magical artefact that could talk and sort them into their houses.

Finally, after what felt like ten long minutes, the song came to an end.

Right on cue, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and spoke in her usual firm, no-nonsense tone.

"Now then, I trust you all have some idea of what's about to happen?"

She gave the group a sweeping glance before continuing.

"When I call your name, you'll come forward, take a seat on the stool, and I'll place the Sorting Hat on your head. It'll decide which house you belong to."

With that, she lifted a scroll and read aloud the first name on the list:

"Abbott, Hannah!"

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Drop power Powerstonessssssssss!

[Note: Read up to Chapter - 91 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]