Harry Potter: Mad Genius

Wizard art is ugly.

That was the first thought that flashed through Jasper Allister's mind as he and the other first-years followed Professor McGonagall through the castle's torch-lit corridors.

He eyed the portraits with something between disappointment and critique. They were painted with rough strokes, garish colors, and a level of movement that, while magical, did little to make up for the sheer lack of artistic taste.

Then came the worst offender.

A pompous-looking wizard in royal purple with a curled mustache and far too many feathers in his hat puffed out his chest and bellowed from his portrait:

"Ah! New blood for Gryffindor, I see! Brave young champions, destined for—!"

Jasper didn't even break stride. He gave the painting a flat look and muttered under his breath:

"Not if you keep talking."

A few students heard it. One of them— a girl walking beside him—let out a giggle.

He turned his head, mildly surprised.

"I'm Susan Bones," she whispered, her tone still light with amusement.

"Jasper Allister."

"You're... strange."

"So I've been told," he replied dryly.

Then, all at once, gasps erupted from the students ahead of them.

Jasper craned his neck slightly to see what the fuss was about.

The cause?

Ghosts.

Several of them.

One floated clean through a stone pillar, robes trailing behind him like shredded curtains in a breeze. Another glided upside down along the ceiling. They shimmered like moonlight caught in water—transparent, glowing faintly, whispering as they passed.

Several students stepped back in alarm. A few squeaked. One boy nearly fell into a suit of armor.

Jasper, on the other hand, tilted his head.

"Huh."

No panic. Just... fascination and awe.

"Spiritual manifestations with cognitive retention. No visible ectoplasm. Energy density likely sub-quantum. Residual memory preserved post-mortem—fascinating."

Susan gave him a sideways glance.

"You're not scared?"

"Of dead people who talk too much?" Jasper asked. "No. I've lived with foster parents."

One ghost passed close—an elegant woman in an Elizabethan gown. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Rude, aren't you?"

"Blunt," Jasper corrected. "And curious. How exactly are you still... functional?"

She sniffed and floated away with a swirl of silk and mild offense.

Susan tried to stifle another laugh.

Up ahead, McGonagall had stopped in front of a pair of huge doors—the entrance to the Great Hall.

She turned to face them once more, expression unreadable.

"In a moment, you will be Sorted into your Houses. When your name is called, you will step forward and sit on the stool to be sorted. The Sorting Hat will determine which House best suits you."

"Sorting Hat?" Jasper thought. "Of course it's sentient clothing."

The doors creaked open.

Golden light spilled out. Long tables. Floating candles. A ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky.

Jasper's gaze lingered, not on the candles or the food or the grandeur—but on the small, shabby-looking hat resting on a stool at the front.

It twitched.

He raised an eyebrow.

"This... should be interesting."

They stood just meters away from the stool.

All the first-years were packed in a huddled semi-circle, necks craned and eyes fixed on the ragged old thing placed center stage at the front of the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat.

Suddenly, it twitched.

A rip near the brim split open into a wide mouth, and two folds above it creased into the semblance of eyes.

And then, it sang.

"In days of old, when I was sewn,

Four founders laid a noble tone…"

Students gasped. A few clapped. Even Susan beside him seemed genuinely charmed.

But Jasper?

Jasper was staring at the ceiling.

Not vaguely. Not dreamily. Intensely.

His blue gemstone-like eyes scanned the enchanted sky with razor-sharp curiosity.

Stars twinkled overhead. Clouds drifted lazily across an artificial moon. The ceiling shimmered with depth—like the entire night sky had been scooped from the cosmos and poured into stone.

"Magical projection? No. Too complex. Not an illusion. Observable from multiple perspectives—parallax remains stable. Possibly a sky-binding enchantment synchronized to real-time astronomical data?"

The hat was halfway through a rhyme about Hufflepuffs being kind and fair, but Jasper didn't even blink.

"If they can mirror the actual night sky, is the ceiling a direct relay from the atmosphere above? Is it open to the ether? Does the spell account for light pollution?"

Susan nudged him slightly, whispering:

"Aren't you gonna listen to the song?"

He didn't look at her.

"I don't learn from hats," he murmured. "I learn from structure."

Another few students gave him strange looks. One boy from the back muttered,

"What a weirdo."

Jasper didn't care. He was now calculating the angular radius of the moon's glow against the enchanted arch.

"Three degrees off... Slight drift. Magical compensation or artistic error?"

Finally, the hat gave one last croaky verse:

"So come and try me on for size,

And find the house that fits you wise!"

A round of polite applause followed. Some older students even cheered.

Jasper looked back down at the hat with a faint frown.

"I've seen scarves more dignified than you."

McGonagall stepped forward, unrolling her scroll.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl shuffled forward nervously and placed the hat on her head.The Sorting Hat was barely on her head for ten seconds before it called out:

"Hufflepuff!"

A section of the Hall erupted in warm cheers and claps. Hannah smiled shyly and hurried over.

McGonagall looked back at her scroll.

"Allister, Jasper."

Silence.

The name meant nothing to the Hall, but heads turned anyway—mostly because of the boy who stepped forward.

Black hair swept back in a deliberately messy fashion. Blue eyes like polished gemstones. Calm, confident stride. Even the way he sat on the stool had a certain quiet arrogance, like he was the one evaluating them.

And just before the Sorting Hat touched his head—

"He's kinda cute," one older girl in Ravenclaw whispered.

"Is he a first-year or a prince ?" said another, smirking.

Then the Hat touched his head.

And within one minute, the entire Hall flinched in shock.

"AAAAAAAHHH! GET ME OFF HIS HEAD!!" the Sorting Hat screamed.

It jerked like it had been electrocuted. McGonagall was so startled she dropped her scroll.

"Professor?!" the hat yelped. "HELP!"

McGonagall rushed over and pulled it off Jasper's head. The hat was panting.

It panted.

The hat was panting—its mouth opening and closing like it was trying to recover from drowning.

The room was dead silent.

The hat, still trembling, wheezed:

"Too… much… thought. So much thought. Even his thoughts have thoughts. It's like—like—being thrown into a hurricane of equations, questions, theories, sarcasm, and—what even is a pizza if it's circular, eaten in triangles, but placed in a square box?!"

Some students gasped.

Others burst into startled laughter.

A few teachers leaned in, whispering furiously to each other.

One student at the Gryffindor table whispered,

"Did he break the Sorting Hat?!"

The hat groaned again:

"His mind… it's like another form of natural Occlumency. But not calm. Not ordered. Chaotic. Wild. No walls—just endless corridors of connections and curiosity.Just a maelstrom of genius and madness. I—I couldn't breathe in there."

Jasper tilted his head, genuinely curious.

"Hmm. I didn't know my mind was like that."

He glanced at the hat.

"Occlumency, you said? Sounds like an interesting branch of magic. I should look into it."

The Hall erupted.

Murmurs. Disbelief.

Even Dumbledore had a hand over his mouth, though his eyes twinkled far too brightly.

McGonagall, for her part, cleared her throat sharply and looked at the hat.

"Well? Do you have a result, or shall we send him back to the boats?"

The hat whined.

"Ugh… fine. Ravenclaw. For the love of Merlin,he belongs in Ravenclaw. Just keep him away from my seams!"

Jasper stood calmly and brushed imaginary dust from his robe.

"Not very professional, for an artifact of ancient magic," he muttered.

"You broke the hat," Susan Bones whispered as he passed.

As he walked toward the Ravenclaw table, the older students were already cheering, a few high-fiving each other like they'd just drafted a star player.

One Ravenclaw girl leaned toward a friend and whispered:

"This year's gonna be interesting."

As the Sorting Ceremony continued in the background, Jasper Allister made his way to the Ravenclaw table, not with excitement, but with the calm, calculated steps of someone curious to observe.

He slipped into a space between two older girls, one blonde and glowing with quiet confidence, the other brunette with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue judging by the way she scanned her classmates.

The blonde turned to him immediately, eyebrows raised in amused interest.

"Well hello there," she said, extending a slender hand toward him. "I'm Rosie Huntington-Whiteley."

Jasper blinked. Then stood—yes, stood—from the bench in one fluid motion. He took her hand with gentle grace, bowing slightly, and kissed her knuckles.

"Jasper Allister," he said with perfect politeness. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Huntington-Whiteley."

The gesture stunned the table for half a second.

Rosie blinked, her cheeks blooming the faintest pink.

"My, my," she murmured. "And they said chivalry was dead."

Jasper resumed his seat as if this were all perfectly normal.

The brunette beside him smirked and spoke without turning her head:

"A gentleman in a sea of boys. Quite a gem, this one, Rosie."

Rosie gave a coy smile and replied,

"You're quite right, Penelope."

Jasper glanced between the two of them, his tone thoughtful.

"If this is the quality of my housemates, I may be persuaded to enjoy school after all."

Penelope arched an eyebrow.

"You don't sound like a first-year."

"I've been told that a lot." he replied flatly.

That earned a soft laugh from Rosie, who leaned in with curiosity.

"So tell me, Jasper—where did they find you? You don't strike me as someone easily lost."

"Psych ward," he said simply.

They both stared.

Jasper sipped his goblet of water like he'd just commented on the weather.

Penelope gave him a slow, stunned blink.

"...You're joking."

"Nope."

Rosie leaned back, wide-eyed, clearly intrigued.

"And I thought I had an interesting summer."

Jasper looked down the long table at the floating candles, then back at the two girls.

"If Hogwarts continues to be this unpredictable, I may not need music to keep myself entertained."