Cultivator in Hogwarts

The rhythm of the train echoed like a heartbeat through the walls of the compartment. Luke TianLong Heaven-Smith sat with arms crossed, gazing out the window as if communing with the landscape, deciphering the subtle spiritual messages of wheat fields and passing cows.

Opposite him, Hermione munched thoughtfully on a cinnamon-ginger biscuit. Elizabeth sat beside Luke, delicately sipping tea from a metal thermos wrapped in linen.

"Luke," Hermione asked suddenly, brushing crumbs off her skirt, "have you thought about which house you want to be in?"

Luke didn't turn his head. "This young master has not lowered himself to entertain such trivial divisions."

Hermione blinked. "Really? But… I want to be in Gryffindor. Dumbledore was there. He's brilliant. Brave. Respected."

Luke turned slowly, folding his hands in front of him like a tribunal judge about to issue sentence.

"You are naïve. Your thoughts are like untempered jade—shiny, but not useful. To chase another's shadow is to lose your own. You chase status. You chase legacy. But you have not looked inward."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"It is truth. And truth, like a cultivation pill, is often bitter before it heals."

Elizabeth chuckled behind her thermos.

Luke continued, "To walk the true path of Dao, one must begin with self-awareness. Ask not what others admire. Ask: who am I? What do I seek? Only then does the Dao reveal the proper method."

Hermione sat in thoughtful silence.

"Do you know, then?" she asked softly. "What you seek?"

Luke's posture softened, if only slightly.

"This young master is nothing but a boy. But one thing is clear: I seek only to protect my mother."

The silence that followed was thick. Hermione's jaw wobbled a little. Neville looked like someone had sucker-punched his soul.

"...Oh," Hermione whispered. She hadn't expected that.

Elizabeth placed a hand gently over Luke's. "My son has always had… a rather poetic way of expressing himself."

The train whistled. Moments later, a voice echoed through the corridors: "We'll be arriving shortly at Hogwarts! Robes on, everyone!"

The corridor filled with footsteps and voices. Robes swished. Owls hooted. A chocolate frog escaped someone's pocket with a screech.

Luke stood, straightening his cloak.

"Mother, permit me to prepare your descent. You are not to be jostled by the common tide."

Elizabeth, smiling, allowed her son to wrap a scarf around her neck with the solemnity of a shrine priest.

As they disembarked, a towering figure loomed near the tracks.

"Firs' years! This way!" called Hagrid, waving his lantern.

Luke's eyes widened. "Impressive. A giant? This sect spares no expense."

They followed the crowd of students along a rocky path into the trees. Fog swirled around their feet. The earth was uneven, the trail half-mud, half-gravel.

Luke scowled.

"A sect this powerful, and they haven't flattened the road? Do they desire twisted ankles?"

Hermione nodded in complete agreement. "Even muggles know how to pave a road."

Neville tripped on a stone but didn't say anything. He was too focused on not falling again.

Luke turned to him and gave him a light kick to the ass.

"Your job as Lackey Number One is to nod and support this Young Master. If you trip, I trip."

Neville blinked. "I—yes, Young Master."

Hermione covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Elizabeth giggled openly.

But not everyone found it funny.

Students walking nearby frowned.

"Did he just kick that kid?"

"Must be one of those spoiled noble brats."

From further back, Draco Malfoy smirked and nodded approvingly. "That's how it's done."

Ron glared. "I bet anything he's going to Slytherin. Definitely one of those stuck-up pureblood types."

Harry nodded quietly, still carrying the bitterness of his earlier Malfoy encounter.

Up ahead, Hagrid didn't say anything, but his steps grew heavier.

--------------------

When they reached the lake, dozens of boats waited by the dock.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called again.

Luke surveyed the vessels with a critical eye.

"Crude craftsmanship, but sufficient for spiritual passage."

He turned to Hermione and Neville. "You may share a boat together."

"Huh?" Neville said.

"My mother and I will ride alone. Every great first in life should be shared with the person you cherish most."

Hermione paused. "You really love your mum, huh?"

Luke raised a brow. "To forsake one's protector is to deny the Dao that raised you. A tree cannot mock its roots."

Elizabeth beamed. "I taught him that one."

Hermione and Neville climbed into a boat together. Elizabeth stepped into her own beside Luke. The water rippled, lantern light casting gold across its surface.

As they floated away, Hermione muttered to Neville, "He's… definitely a mummy's boy."

Neville shrugged. "But he's not… bad, I think(?)"

-------------------

The lanterns shimmered over the lake's surface as the boats floated silently toward the castle, cutting through mist like paper charms on a midnight pond.

Hermione sat beside Neville. Across from them were two boys she hadn't met until just minutes ago—though one of them needed no introduction.

"You're Harry Potter," she blurted.

Harry nodded awkwardly, brushing back his messy hair. "Yeah… I guess I am."

Ron, sitting beside him, squinted at Hermione. "Weren't you the girl sitting with that weird noble kid?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Luke(?)"

Ron snorted. "Yes! The one who talks like he's starring in some old wizard drama and thinks everyone's beneath him."

Harry nodded. "He's intense. I saw him kick you." Pointing to Neville

Neville quietly raised a hand. "But it wasn't hard. I think he meant it more like… encouragement?"

Ron stared. "You're joking, right?"

Hermione glanced down. "He's just… very 'young master'ish(?)"

"Yeah, well," Ron said, leaning back with crossed arms, "he's obviously going to Slytherin."

"Because he's confident and has a spine?" Hermione snapped before catching herself.

Harry frowned.

Neville muttered, "He shares his cookies, at least."

That earned him three simultaneous looks.

"Cookies don't make someone a good person," Ron muttered. "They're just… tasty distractions."

Hermione looked out at the water.

They sat in quiet for a moment, broken only by the soft splashing of water against the boat's edge.

"So…" Ron said, breaking the silence, "what houses are you lot hoping for?"

Hermione sighed. "I used to think Gryffindor. But now I'm not sure."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "My whole family's been in Gryffindor. It's basically mandatory."

Neville nodded. "Same. My grandma keeps a photo of the Fat Lady on our mantel. If I don't get in, she'll hex me."

Harry shrugged. "I just hope I don't end up in Slytherin."

Another wave of silence drifted through the boat, like fog hiding unspoken worries.

The castle grew nearer, torches flickering along its windows.

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Back in their boat, Luke unwrapped a bundle of neatly prepared snacks: cut fruit, biscuits, and even a small thermos of broth.

"Mother, refresh yourself. Even the journey across water is a cultivation opportunity if done properly."

Elizabeth sipped and looked out across the lake. "It's beautiful."

Luke nodded. "A suitable threshold."

In the distance, Hogwarts Castle rose like a titan carved from moonlight.

The sect lay ahead.

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The boats docked with a soft bump against the stone pier beneath the cliff. A stairway of wet, jagged steps wound its way toward the looming castle above.

Hagrid moved along the line, helping students off one by one. He offered a large hand to Luke.

"I can manage," Luke said calmly, stepping out with practiced grace. He turned and extended his arm to Elizabeth. "Come, Matriarch. Allow this humble son to assist your descent."

Elizabeth accepted his hand with theatrical poise, stepping off the boat like she was descending from a royal barge.

Hagrid paused. His hand hovered awkwardly mid-air, then dropped.

His expression tightened.

Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, "You saw that, right? Didn't even look at Hagrid. Thinks he's above him, like Malfoy."

Harry nodded grimly. "Definitely going to Slytherin."

Hermione, walking nearby, narrowed her eyes. "That's not it. He just doesn't want anyone else touching his mother."

Neville nodded.

Hermione didn't answer. She glanced at Elizabeth again—elegant, confident, radiant even in the cold mist. Then remembered something.

That boy offered me a spot in his future harem.

She turned scarlet.

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The group reached the massive castle doors. Professor McGonagall stood waiting, flanked by a shorter, plumper woman with dirt under her fingernails and a warm smile.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall said with her usual crispness. "Luke, Professor Sprout will assist your guardian."

Professor Sprout waved cheerily at Elizabeth. "Right this way, dear."

Elizabeth bowed slightly. "I entrust my son to you."

Sprout blinked. "Oh, uh… lovely."

Luke stepped forward and addressed McGonagall with a slight nod.

"Sub-Mistress of the Sect, I place my fate in your hands. May the Dao guide your judgment."

McGonagall's eye twitched, again.

She turned to the group of first-years.

"You are about to be sorted into one of four houses," she began. "Each house has produced fine witches and wizards…"

McGonagall continued. "Gryffindor, for the brave; Hufflepuff, for the loyal and hardworking; Ravenclaw, for the wise and clever; Slytherin, for the ambitious and cunning—"

Luke, whispering behind her, muttered, "Categorizing spiritual potential based on loosely defined personality traits. Primitive."

Hermione elbowed him gently. "Shh."

Suddenly, from the corridor wall, a translucent ghost in frilly Elizabethan rags swooped dramatically into the crowd.

"Bewaaaare the Sorting Hat!" it wailed.

Half the students screamed.

Except Luke.

With reflexes honed by years of paranoia and shadow boxing with the air, he launched his fist forward, landing a clean strike to the ghost's gut.

WHOMP.

The ghost spiraled in mid-air like a translucent balloon.

"You dare attempt to startle this Young Master?!"

The room went silent.

McGonagall dropped her clipboard.

Hermione gasped.

Ron's jaw hit the floor. "He just punched a ghost!"

Luke exhaled slowly, lowering his hand with theatrical calm. "Yin spirits are vulnerable to lightning Qi. A basic cultivation technique."

He turned discreetly and wiped cold sweat from his brow.

"I almost fainted. But a Young Master must never fall before a ghostly prankster."

The ghost drifted upright again, holding its non-existent ribs.

"By Merlin, what are you?!"

"I am a genius, a cultivator, a tactician and a filial" Luke replied.

McGonagall didn't even react this time. Her soul had already surrendered to the absurd.

-----------------

The Great Hall doors opened. Candlelight floated above them, the starry ceiling stretching endlessly above. Four long house tables lined the chamber. At the front, a stool sat beneath a ragged brown hat.

The Sorting Hat.

It twitched.

It cleared its nonexistent throat and began to sing.

Luke immediately winced. "This melody would be illegal in most mortal kingdoms."

Neville leaned in. "You really hate the hat?"

"It's an affront to the Dao of Music. Master Hendrix must be suffering in his tomb"

The song ended.

Professor McGonagall raised a scroll and called the names.

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"Hermione Granger!"

The name echoed through.

Hermione's legs moved before her brain caught up. Her heart pounded in her ears. She passed Luke on her way to the stool and felt a flicker of doubt—what if she chose wrong?

The Sorting Hat, old and wrinkled like an ancient sock possessed by a bard, tilted as she approached.

She sat, hands clutching her robes. The hat dropped over her head, plunging her into darkness and smell.

"Ah," the Hat said with a low chuckle. "Miss Granger. Very clever. Very clever indeed. Mind sharp as steel wire. And that hunger—oh my, yes. Knowledge, certainty, recognition."

Hermione flinched. "I—I just want to be in the right house."

"There is no 'right,' my dear. Only different paths to greatness. Ravenclaw would suit you—books, questions, validation. You'd shine there."

"I admire Professor Dumbledore," she whispered. "I thought Gryffindor was—"

"Oh, ho ho! So you want to be brave?"

"I want to matter."

The Hat was silent for a long moment.

"You already do. But bravery isn't just charging into danger, child. It's staying true to your values even when the world rolls its eyes. And from what I've heard… you've been rolling with quite the unusual companion lately."

Hermione flushed. "Luke? He's… strange. But he made me think."

"And that is brave too. Very well. If it's courage you seek—and a house where you'll be challenged and respected—then I know just the place..."

A pause. Then, loud and proud:

"Gryffindor!"

The hat lifted.

Hermione exhaled like she had been holding her breath. She slid off the stool, not quite smiling, but more certain than before.

Luke, from his place among the yet-to-be-sorted, gave her a slight nod. A knowing one.

And for just a second, she wondered what house he would choose—if he even saw the houses as choices at all.

----------------------

Then came the moment.

"Luke TianLong Heaven-Smith!"

The hall fell quiet.

Luke took his time walking to the front. His robe trailed behind him like mist. He paused before sitting.

The Sorting Hat chuckled as it dropped over his head. "Could you turn off Occlumency for a while?"

Luke frowned. "Ok. Get on with it."

The hat paused. "Fascinating mind. Fire and logic. Loyalty and pride. Discipline..."

"Just make a decision," Luke said. "Any house is a temporary station. My Dao transcends labels."

The hat sighed.

"Well, then. Best get it over with—SLYTHERIN!"

The table exploded with whispers.

Luke stood slowly, bowed to the hat with courtly flair, and walked toward the Slytherin table with an expression so neutral, it almost screamed superiority.

His aura alone made several second-years scoot aside to give him space.

---------------

From the Gryffindor table, Hermione looked down, frowning.

Neville looked a little sad.

Ron smirked. "Knew it. Snake-boy, through and through."

Harry said nothing. But his eyes followed Luke with wary curiosity.

---------------------

"Neville Longbottom!"

Neville stumbled up, tripped on the stool, recovered, and barely got the hat on before—

"Gryffindor!"

More cheers.

Ron pumped his fist.

Luke nodded to himself. "The first of my followers has been accepted into a rival sect. I must now cultivate diplomatic alliances."

-----------------

The sorting continued.

When Harry Potter was finally called, the hall held its breath.

The hat hesitated. Muttered. Debated.

And finally:

"Gryffindor!"

The table erupted. Ron cheered. Hermione gasped.

Luke? Luke raised a brow.

"The protagonist of the plane has arrived. The arcs now begin to intertwine."

He bit into a sugar biscuit from his sleeve.

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Give me power stones, that's all I ask of you!