Hermione’s arrival had been a pleasant surprise.
Unfortunately, the only person she admired was Adrian Ambrosius.
As for Harry, what she felt was more amazement than admiration.
After all, Voldemort had once been the most feared Dark Wizard in the world, yet somehow he had been defeated by a baby.
And Ron?
Hermione still treated him with the same dismissive attitude she had in the original story.
Adrian Ambrosius wholeheartedly approved.
Honestly, Ron…
Who knows what J.K.
Rowling was thinking, pairing Hermione with him?
Let’s all take a moment to collectively disapprove.
Transportation in the wizarding world of the twentieth century was remarkably underdeveloped.
For long-distance travel, there were only three real options:
the relatively comfortable Hogwarts Express,the wild and unpredictable broomstick,or the soot-covered Floo Network.
To ensure Hogwarts’ security, students were essentially limited to the train.
Still…
The train was unbelievably slow.
It took the better part of an entire day, and by the time they finally reached Hogwarts, night had already fallen.
What terrible transportation.
And this is Britain—the birthplace of railways?
Once the technology matures…
I’m building a magical high-speed rail network.
The exhausting journey did nothing to dampen the first-years’ excitement.
Quite the opposite.
As the train drew closer, Hogwarts Castle became clearer and clearer against the night sky, towering magnificently above the lake.
The moment the train came to a smooth stop, the students who had been suppressing their excitement all day burst into cheers and flooded out of the carriages.
“Your luggage has already been sent to the castle,” a booming voice thundered.
“It’ll be delivered to your dormitories later.
Now—all first-years, follow me!”
The deep, booming voice nearly deafened the chattering newcomers.
Standing before them was the enormous figure of Hagrid, holding a lantern nearly the size of a bucket.
Following Hogwarts tradition, he would lead the new students across the lake in enchanted wooden boats to the castle.
The boats were surprisingly large.
Even with Hagrid aboard, he occupied only a small portion of one.
There was enough room for the entire year’s first-years.
There were no sails.
No oars.
Driven entirely by magic, the boats glided smoothly across the rippling lake.
“We’re here!”
“Everyone off the boats!”
A wooden gangplank lowered slowly.
Hagrid led the students from the dock, up a winding path and countless stone steps. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
With every step, their surroundings grew brighter.
Soon they entered a magnificent corridor rivaling even Gringotts in grandeur.
Huge blazing torches lined both sides, illuminating the passage with warm golden light.
At the final corridor before the entrance to Hogwarts Castle, Hagrid stopped.
He respectfully bowed toward a woman standing nearby.
She wore emerald-green robes and stood perfectly straight.
“This is Professor McGonagall.”
One hand resting lightly on the banister, Professor McGonagall looked as though she had been waiting for quite some time.
“Thank you, Hagrid.”
She didn’t say much.
She didn’t need to.
The cold, stern aura surrounding her was enough to silence every first-year immediately.
When her emerald eyes swept across the crowd, the students instinctively felt a chill run down their spines.
From beyond the nearby doors came the growing murmur of voices.
The older students had already entered the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward.
Her voice was crisp and unwavering.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.
“The Start-of-Term Banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you will be sorted into your Houses.
“The Sorting Ceremony is an important tradition, because while you are here, your House will be something like your family at Hogwarts.
“You will attend classes together, sleep in your House dormitories, and spend your free time in your common room.”
“There are four Houses:
“Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.
“Each has a proud history and has produced many outstanding witches and wizards.
“During your years at Hogwarts, your achievements will earn points for your House, while rule-breaking will cost your House points.”
“At the end of each school year, the House with the highest total is awarded the House Cup—a very great honor.
“I hope each of you, whichever House you belong to, will strive to bring it glory.”
Just as she was about to continue—
“Ah!”
A startled cry interrupted her.
The shout came from a rather chubby boy.
Neville Longbottom.
The same boy whose missing toad Hermione had been helping search for.
Professor McGonagall looked down.
There, sitting calmly at her feet…
…was the toad.
She then looked at Neville’s round face.
Her already stern expression darkened further, as though she were about to explode.
Then something occurred to her.
And considering what happened to his parents…
Forget it.
It’s only a toad.
“Mr.
Longbottom,” she said, suppressing her irritation, “I hope you’ll keep a closer eye on your pet in the future, so that it doesn’t choose a place like this to turn up again.”
Neville carefully picked up Trevor, not daring to meet Professor McGonagall’s eyes before quietly retreating into the crowd.
A few Pure-blood students, led by Draco Malfoy, let out quiet snickers filled with barely concealed mockery.
Adrian Ambrosius frowned slightly.
His golden eyes shifted toward Draco.
That single glance was enough.
Draco and the others instantly fell silent.
Professor McGonagall shook her head inwardly.
Such a pity.
Frank and Alice Longbottom were such exceptional witches and wizards…
Yet their son seems rather slow.
By all appearances, Neville was indeed painfully ordinary.
His magical ability, his personality, even his apparent talent seemed mediocre.
Most people blamed it on his terrible memory.
But Adrian Ambrosius had reached a different conclusion long ago.
The Longbottoms had once been among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, an ancient Pure-blood family.
Someone born into such a lineage shouldn’t possess such poor magical aptitude.
His dreadful memory was likely the result of something else entirely.
Perhaps…
When he was very young…
Someone had cast a powerful Memory Charm on him to erase the horrifying scene of watching his parents tortured into insanity.
Bertha Jorkins had once suffered something similar.
That would explain everything.
What everyone saw was merely a slow, forgetful Neville.
Yet that same forgetfulness had forged an extraordinarily resilient heart.
And it had also awakened his remarkable talent for Herbology.
At that moment, the two torches that had remained unlit beside the corridor suddenly flared to life.
The signal.
The Great Hall was ready.
Professor McGonagall nodded.
“Now,” she said, “form a single line…
and follow me.”
Finally.
That was probably the collective thought of every first-year present.
Standing under the gaze of such a stern professor for so long…
…had made every single one of them feel incredibly uncomfortable.