Eight o’clock.
The Hogwarts Express had emptied onto the platform.
Hagrid stood with a large lantern, booming over the chatter of first-years.
“First-years over here!
Don’t be shy!” He spotted the white-haired figure near Harry at once.
“Professor Styx.
Looks like you’ve already met the boy.” Harry shot Hagrid a long-suffering look.
“If it hadn’t been for Professor Styx I wouldn’t have made the train at all.” “Sorry about that, Harry.
That parcel had to reach Dumbledore straight away.” Hagrid raised his voice again.
“All right, everyone follow me.
Boats across the lake—four to a boat.” Styx gave Harry a brief nod.
“I’ll see you inside.” He left them to Hagrid and Apparated back to the castle.
The staff table was already filling when he took his seat beside Snape.
Down at the shore the first-years climbed into the boats.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville ended up together.
The castle rose ahead of them, black against the starry sky, windows glowing like scattered gold.
Harry’s mind was still stuck on something Ron had said earlier.
“Ron… are we really supposed to fight a dragon?” Ron shrugged.
“Fred and George both said so.
Percy didn’t deny it either.” Hermione’s face went pale.
“Challenge a dragon?
Professor Styx never mentioned anything about dragons.” The boats scraped onto the bank.
Hagrid led them up the slope, through the gates, and into the entrance hall.
Professor McGonagall was waiting.
“Thank you, Hagrid.
Go on in—Professor Styx is already seated.” She turned to the first-years.
The chatter died.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.
The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you take your seats you must be sorted into your houses.
Your house will be your family for the next seven years.
You will share classes, dormitories, and common rooms with your housemates.
“The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.
Each has produced outstanding witches and wizards.
Earn points for your house through good work and lose them through rule-breaking.
At year’s end the house with the most points wins the House Cup—a great honour.
“In a few moments the Sorting will take place before the entire school.
I suggest you tidy yourselves while you wait.” She swept into the Great Hall.
The doors closed behind her.
A pale blond boy near the front rail spoke up, voice carrying.
“So the rumours were true.
Harry Potter really is coming to Hogwarts.” He stepped forward with two larger boys at his heels.
“This is Crabbe.
This is Goyle.
I’m Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.” Ron made a noise that was almost a laugh.
Malfoy’s head snapped toward him.
“You find the name funny?
Red hair, second-hand robes… You must be a Weasley.
Even our house-elves dress better.
Some of us are just better than others, Potter.
You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.
I can help you.” He held out a hand.
Harry looked at it, then at the boy attached to it.
“I think I can tell the difference myself.
Thanks.” The Great Hall doors opened before Malfoy could reply.
He settled for a glare at Ron and returned to his place.
The Hall was vast and bright.
Floating candles lit every table.
The ceiling showed a clear night sky and a high moon.
The four house tables stretched the length of the room.
At the far end the staff sat in a long line, Dumbledore at the centre.
In front of him stood a stool and a battered, filthy hat.
McGonagall took her place beside it.
The first-years finally understood.
No dragons.
Just a hat.
Ron shot a betrayed look toward the Weasley twins already seated at the Gryffindor table.
At the staff table Styx sat beside Snape.
Both men were quiet.
Snape’s eyes never left the boy with James Potter’s face and Lily’s eyes.
Styx watched the Sorting with open interest.
[Here it comes.] [The most iconic scene in the entire series.] McGonagall unrolled the list.
“Hannah Abbott!” “Hufflepuff!” Applause.
Names continued.
House after house filled.
“Draco Malfoy!” The blond boy walked as though the entire Hall existed to watch him.
Chin high, every step measured.
Styx tapped a finger once against the table.
“Slytherin!” “Hermione Granger!” Hermione’s heart stuttered.
She climbed the steps, sat, and pulled the hat down over her eyes.
The Sorting Hat’s voice was low, almost thoughtful.
“A sharp mind… courage as well… I know exactly where you belong.” “Gryffindor!” Hermione nearly ran to the Gryffindor table.
As she passed the staff seats Styx lifted his cup a fraction in quiet acknowledgment.
Ron followed soon after—Gryffindor without drama.
Then the name that silenced the Hall.
“Harry Potter.” Every eye tracked the black-haired boy as he walked to the stool.
The hat settled on his head.
“Difficult… very difficult.
Plenty of courage, a good heart, talent enough, and a strong desire to prove yourself.
Where to put you?” Harry’s thoughts were a single desperate loop.
Not Slytherin.
Not Slytherin.
“Are you certain?
Slytherin would help you on the path to greatness.” A longer pause.
“Very well.
If you’re sure…” “GRYFFINDOR!” The Hall erupted.
Professors stood.
The Weasley twins climbed onto their benches and roared.
When the last first-year had been sorted, McGonagall tapped a crystal goblet for silence.
Dumbledore rose, arms open, eyes twinkling.
“A few start-of-term notices.
First-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds to all students.
Our caretaker, Mr Filch, has also asked me to remind you that the corridor on the right-hand side of the third floor is forbidden to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.” His gaze rested a moment longer on the Gryffindor table—whether on Harry or the twins was unclear.
“And now, the feast.” Food appeared.
Conversation and clatter filled the Hall.
Later, when the plates had cleared, Percy Weasley led the new Gryffindors up the moving staircases toward their common room.
The castle at night was hushed and vast.
In the Headmaster’s office two men waited under the skylight.
Snape stood rigid near the window.
Dumbledore sat behind the desk.
Neither spoke until the door opened and Styx stepped inside.
“The first-years are settled.” Snape’s control finally cracked.
“You’re really going to put that child in front of him for the sake of a prophecy, Albus?
Your ‘Saviour plan’ is no better than children playing with toy soldiers.
Wake up.” Dumbledore listened without interruption.
When Snape finished he looked at Styx.
“Lethean.
Do you also believe I am wrong?” Styx tilted his head.
“Harry is eleven.
I don’t think any child that age should have to carry the weight of the title Saviour.
Heroes pay a price.
That kind of burden can crush someone before they’re ready.” Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment.
He looked toward the dark shape of the Forbidden Forest beyond the window.
The glass reflected an old, tired face.
“I am old,” he said at last.
“When I am gone, Harry will have to carry that banner.
Killing Quirrell will not end it.
Killing Voldemort himself will not end it.
The Dark Lord is not merely one man—he is the opponent destiny selected for the Saviour.
Harry is that Saviour.
That is simply the fact we are given.
Remove this Dark Lord and another will rise in time.
Blind protection only makes the flower weaker when the storm finally arrives.
You both know this.” No one argued.
The truth sat heavy between them.
“Protect him well,” Snape said finally.
“That is what we owe her.” He left without waiting for a reply.
Styx stayed a moment longer, studying the man behind the desk.
Tonight Dumbledore looked less like the greatest wizard of the age and more like an old man being pushed forward by forces larger than himself.
Styx inclined his head and followed Snape out.
The door closed.
Only the portraits remained, and the quiet sound of their ancient, collective sigh.