"Harry, don't listen to him!" Ron's voice cracked with panic. "Dumbledore's the one judging the Sorting! He's the fairest there is! You can't cheat the Sorting Hat!"
Hall reached into his robe and pulled out a folded parchment charm. It looked like a tiny origami star, creased and uneven — he'd folded it himself, and it showed.
The difference was what was inside.
He'd spent a hundred Galleons unlocking the Charms talent, then another ten learning the Patronus Charm. After a few hours of practice, he'd figured out how to compress the effect into a physical token. A simplified version — not strong enough to cast a full corporeal Patronus, but enough to push back fear and doubt.
Exactly what Harry Potter needed.
"Try it," Hall said.
Harry took the charm. The moment his fingers closed around it, something shifted behind his eyes. His shoulders dropped. The tightness around his mouth smoothed out.
"It feels like..." Harry paused, searching for words. "Like a window opened in a stuffy room."
"Told you." Hall leaned back. "Don't worry — you paid for the premium package. You'll get your money's worth."
Ron was not having it. "This isn't right! You can't bribe the Sorting Hat!"
"It's not a bribe. It's emotional support."
"It's cheating!"
"It's insurance."
Harry looked between them, the charm warm in his palm. "What if it doesn't work?"
"No charge," Hall said. "You pay only if you get Gryffindor. I'm that confident."
"And if it works?"
"Double."
Ron looked like he wanted to argue more, but Harry was already pocketing the charm.
"Deal."
He held out the folded parchment.
The sky went dark outside the train windows. The three of them changed into their school robes — Ron's a secondhand set from Charlie, Harry's brand-new and perfectly fitted, and Hall's a hand-me-down from Charlie that he'd altered himself with a needle and thread. It fit well enough. He had the Galleons for new robes. He just didn't want to waste them on fabric when he could spend them on spells.
The train began to slow.
"Five minutes to Hogsmeade Station," a voice echoed through the corridor. "Please leave your luggage aboard; it will be taken to the school separately."
"Finally," Ron groaned. "I could eat a whole cow."
The platform was cold and dark when they stepped off. Torches flickered along the path. First-years huddled together, breath misting in the chill air.
A massive figure emerged from the darkness, lantern raised — easily twelve feet tall, with a wild beard and an oilskin coat that could have served as a tent.
"First-years! First-years, follow me! This way!"
Hall had seen Hagrid before, in his memories of the future. Seeing him in person was different. Bigger. Louder. The ground shook when he walked.
The path wound downhill, steep and muddy from the damp air. At the bottom, the Black Lake stretched out before them, black as ink under the moonless sky. And beyond it —
Hogwarts.
The castle rose from the far shore, a mountain of stone and light. Towers speared upward. Windows glowed warm amber in the dark. The reflection trembled on the water's surface like a second castle submerged beneath.
Hall stopped breathing for a second.
He'd known he'd see this moment one day. He'd pictured it, planned for it, built his whole strategy around it. But the picture in his head was nothing compared to the real thing.
I made it. I'm actually here.
"Get in the boats," Hagrid rumbled. "No more than four to a boat."
Hall, Harry, and Ron shared a boat with another first-year. The moment they were settled, the boat pushed off on its own, gliding across the black water without a sound. The castle grew larger with every heartbeat.
"It's beautiful," Harry whispered.
"Yeah," Hall said, and his voice came out rougher than he expected. "Yeah, it is."
The boats passed through an archway carved into the cliffside and emerged in a small, dark harbour. Hagrid was already ashore, lantern raised, waiting.
Hall was the last out of his boat. He lifted his robes to keep them out of the mud and followed the line of first-years up the stone steps, past the gravel path, through the massive oak doors that groaned open at Hagrid's knock.
The Entrance Hall was enormous. Torches in brackets. A ceiling too high to see in the dark. And at the far end, a stern-faced witch in emerald robes.
Professor McGonagall.
"All first-year students are here, Professor," Hagrid said.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."
She led them into the Great Hall.
Hall had known what to expect. He'd read the descriptions a hundred times. But knowing and seeing were different things.
The ceiling was enchanted to mirror the night sky — dark velvet scattered with slow-moving stars. Four long tables stretched the length of the hall, packed with students in black robes. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, casting warm light over everything. At the far end, the staff table sat elevated, professors in dark robes watching the new arrivals.
And in the centre — Albus Dumbledore.
Silver-white hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles. A long, crooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice. His blue eyes gleamed behind the glass, sharp and unreadable.
McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the dais and set a patched, faded Sorting Hat on top of it. The hat stirred. A rip near the brim opened like a mouth.
"You may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see..."
The hat sang its song. Hall barely heard it. He was watching the staff table, watching Dumbledore, watching McGonagall's stern profile as she unrolled a long parchment.
"...so put me on and I will tell — where you ought to be!"
The hall applauded. McGonagall stepped forward, parchment in hand.
"When I call your name," she said, "you will come forward, put on the hat, and be sorted."
She lifted her gaze to the first-year benches.
"Abbott, Hannah."