Harry had heard about Hogwarts before, of course. Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George had all spoken about it with awe in their voices, their eyes lighting up as they described the first time they saw towering castle. But their words had never managed to capture his imagination the way they seemed to want them to. He thought it was just another building—rger, sure, and probably fancier, but nothing extraordinary.
Yet now, as the small boats glided silently over the smooth, dark ke, Harry looked up and saw it for the first time. Hogwarts Castle rose majestically against the star-studded night sky, every window abze with golden light. Towers and turrets loomed high, their edges shimmering faintly as though touched by moonlight. The sight was overwhelming, breathtaking in a way Harry had never experienced before. His breath caught in his throat.
Ron, seated beside him, was equally stunned. “Blimey,” Ron murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s... it’s like something out of a dream.”
Seamus and Dean, sitting across from them, were silent for a moment. Then Seamus let out a low whistle. “Now I get it. When my mum said this pce was magical, I thought she just meant spells and potions. But this... this is something else.”
Dean nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the glowing castle. “It’s beautiful,” he said simply.
Harry understood now why his brothers had struggled to describe this moment. Words couldn’t capture the way the castle seemed to float above the ke, its reflection rippling faintly in the water below. It wasn’t just a building; it was a vision, something otherworldly, something that made you feel as if you were stepping into a storybook.
The boat beneath them moved steadily, gliding forward without the need for oars. Up ahead, Hagrid’s massive silhouette loomed in the lead boat. His voice carried over the gentle pping of water. “Mind yer heads, now!”
Harry instinctively ducked, as did Ron, Seamus, and Dean. The others followed suit without knowing why, but it felt like the right thing to do.
When they emerged on the other side, the castle loomed closer, rger, and even more enchanting than before. For the first time in his life, Harry felt something stir deep within him—a sense of belonging, of coming home to a pce he’d never been but had always been waiting for him.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Hagrid called out, his voice echoing across the still ke. And for Harry, those words meant everything.
Hagrid ensured every first-year cmbered out of the boats safely, his booming voice cutting through the excited whispers. “Alright, everyone, follow me! Stay together now!” He gestured for the group to assemble, then began leading the way up a winding stone staircase carved into the cliffside.
Harry looked up and saw the stairs seemed to stretch endlessly, illuminated by torches mounted at regur intervals. Their flickering fmes cast warm, golden light across the dark stone, creating a magical path to the castle above.
The climb was slow and steady, with Hagrid maintaining a leisurely pace to ensure no one gged behind. Even with the steady ascent, Harry could feel the excitement in the air. Everyone around him whispered in hushed tones, the anticipation of entering Hogwarts tangible in every breath.
Ron, beside Harry, muttered, “Blimey, how tall is this pce? Feels like we’re climbing a mountain!”
Seamus chuckled from behind them. “Better get used to it. Bet there are loads more stairs inside.”
When they finally reached the top, a massive, ornately carved door loomed before them. It was rger than anything Harry had ever seen, its polished wood gleaming in the torchlight. Hagrid turned to address the group.
“Right, all of you wait here,” he said, his voice gentle yet commanding. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
With that, Hagrid disappeared behind the door, leaving the first-years standing in an uneasy silence.
Harry took the opportunity to gnce around at the others. Many faces were familiar—children he had seen at wizarding events or in passing through Diagon Alley. In such a small community, it was inevitable that most of them knew each other, at least by name, though many had never spoken.
Near the back, Harry spotted a blonde girl standing slightly apart from the group. He remembered her from a formal dinner his family had attended; her name was Daphne, if he wasn’t mistaken. Beside her, a dark-haired boy whispered to another student, his movements precise and his gaze sharp—Harry thought he might be one of the Zabinis.
Ron leaned closer to Harry. “Recognize anyone?” he asked in a low voice.
“A few,” Harry replied, his eyes sweeping over the crowd again. “But it’s odd seeing them all here together. Feels... different.”
Ron nodded. “Yeah. Like a reunion, except no one really knows each other.”
The door creaked open, and Hagrid stepped back into view, but this time he wasn’t alone. Beside him stood a stern-looking woman in emerald-green robes. Her gaze swept across the group of nervous first-years with an air of authority that silenced even the most excitable whispers.
Harry’s breath hitched as he recognized her immediately. Professor Minerva McGonagall. Fred, George, and Percy had mentioned her countless times, each with their own mix of admiration and fear. She was exactly as Harry had imagined—sharp, commanding, and with a no-nonsense demeanor that instantly quieted the room.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she began, her voice crisp and unwavering. “I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House. In a moment, you will proceed into the Great Hall to be sorted into your respective houses. This is a significant moment, as your house will be like your family while you are here at Hogwarts. Your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose them.”
Her words were punctuated by a stern gnce at a boy at the back who was nervously shifting on his feet.
“Follow me,” she instructed, turning sharply.
The first-years scrambled to fall into step behind her, with Harry and Ron somewhere in the middle of the group. As they stepped into the Great Hall, an audible gasp rippled through the crowd of first-years.
The hall was more magnificent than anything Harry had ever imagined. Thousands of candles floated in midair, casting a soft glow over the four long tables where students from the different houses sat. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky outside, dotted with twinkling stars.
Ron nudged Harry. “Look at that ceiling! Fred says it’s bewitched to look like the sky. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
Harry nodded, unable to tear his eyes away. At the far end of the hall stood a long table where the professors were seated. Among them, Harry immediately spotted Dumbledore, his long silver beard gleaming in the candlelight. The headmaster appeared to be in high spirits, a cheerful twinkle in his eyes as he observed the new arrivals.
A sudden high-pitched scream broke Harry’s reverie as a ghost glided through the crowd of first-years, causing several students to jump back in arm.
“Ah, the Nearly Headless Nick trick,” muttered Ron with a grin.
Harry gnced at the ghost—a tall, regal-looking man with a partially severed neck—and felt a chill run down his spine. It was his first time seeing a real ghost, but unlike some of the others, he didn’t scream. Instead, he watched in fascination as the ghost exchanged pleasantries with another spirit floating near the Gryffindor table.
“This pce just gets stranger by the minute,” Harry murmured to himself.
The group of first-years was led to a raised ptform where a stool and a ragged-looking hat sat waiting. Harry’s excitement grew as he realized that this was the Sorting Hat—the moment he had been anticipating for weeks was finally here.
Harry remembered Fred and George's "helpful" expnation to Ron during the summer, and he couldn’t help but smirk as he looked at his friend now. Ron was fidgeting nervously, his ears bright red, clearly dreading what was about to happen.
“Rex, Ron,” Harry said, though he wasn’t sure himself what was going to happen.
“But what if they make us fight a troll?” Ron whispered urgently, his eyes darting toward the front of the hall.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “A troll?”
“Yeah,” Ron hissed, leaning closer so that no one else could hear. “Fred and George said that to get sorted, you have to face a troll. If you charge at it, you’re a Gryffindor. If you outsmart it, you’re a Slytherin. If you know how to stop it from a book, you’re a Ravencw, and if you run away, you’re a Hufflepuff.”
Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. “And you believed them?”
Ron shot him a look. “They’re my brothers, Harry. Why would they lie about something this important?”
“Right,” Harry said, biting back a ugh. “But they told me it’s just a hat that does the sorting.”
Ron froze, his jaw dropping. “A hat? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Harry replied with a grin. “I think they were having you on.”
Ron groaned and spped his forehead. “I’m going to kill them.”
Harry ughed, but the humor faded as Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long piece of parchment. She cleared her throat, and the entire hall fell silent.
“When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and pce the Sorting Hat on your head. It will determine your house,” she announced.
Ron stared at Harry, still trying to process the idea that all his fears of facing a troll were for nothing. “A hat,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
Harry couldn’t resist one st jab. “Guess you won’t have to wrestle a troll after all. Disappointed?”
Ron gred at him, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Shut up, Harry.”
Fred and George told Harry, how Hogwarts sort students, which is a well-kept secret within the wizarding world. They had shared this knowledge with Harry because they had certain expectations for him. They were convinced, based on what they had observed, that Harry had all the qualities of a Slytherin—ambition, cunning, and a focus on getting ahead—traits they themselves had seen in the youngest Weasley. Fred and George, after all, had their own experience with the Sorting Hat, which had tried to pce both of them into Slytherin before they argued their case. It was an embarrassing story they never shared, but for Harry, they made an exception.
The twins had always been a bit protective of their younger brothers, and despite their mischievous ways, they were keen on making sure Harry, like their other siblings, was pced in Gryffindor. It was the house of bravery, courage, and the qualities that matched their family’s values. Slytherin, however, was a house that seemed far too dangerous, far too ambitious, even for them. It was the house that had made a dark name for itself in the wizarding world, with its association with Voldemort and his followers. Fred and George didn’t want Harry—who had so much potential—to be surrounded by that sort of ambition.
So, they told Harry about their own experience with the Sorting Hat, about how it had wanted to pce them in Slytherin, and how they had “convinced” the hat otherwise. They had done it by arguing, by presenting their case, their desire to be in Gryffindor, and the Sorting Hat had eventually agreed. But the twins were very aware of how it worked, how the Sorting Hat didn’t just pce anyone in a house—no, it listened to what the students wanted, what they valued most, and sometimes, it was a matter of persuasion.
Knowing Harry was already a strong candidate for Slytherin, Fred and George were making sure he knew the stakes. They didn’t want him to be surprised, didn’t want him to feel confused or ashamed. Instead, they prepared him to argue for Gryffindor, just as they had. They wanted to give him the tools to make his case, to ensure that Harry would make the right choice for himself.
“Trust us, mate,” Fred had told him with a mischievous grin. “You’re a Slytherin all the way, but the hat won’t see it if you don’t make a big enough fuss. It listens, but you’ve got to speak up.”
“You’re brave, Harry,” George added, looking him seriously in the eye. “But you’ve got something else in you too. You’ve got to tell the hat that you’re more than just ambition. You belong in Gryffindor with the rest of us.”
Harry had listened, uncertain but intrigued. It was a lot to take in—this idea that the Sorting Hat wasn’t just a decision made for you, that it could be influenced. But Fred and George seemed confident, and their warning about the Sorting Hat’s tendency to favor ambition was enough to make Harry second-guess his own pce.
