The boats bumped gently against the wooden dock.
"One at a ti now," Hagrid called, hopping out first. "Careful as yeh step off."
Victor stepped onto solid ground, Hermione right behind him. The other first-years followed.
Hagrid counted heads quickly. "All here? Good."
He led them up a narrow stone path, lantern swinging, until they reached a massive oak door set deep into the castle wall.
The door swung open.
Waiting inside was a tall, stern-looking witch in erald-green robes, her black hair pulled back tightly. Her sharp eyes swept over the group in one precise glance.
"This is Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said. "They're firrs' years, Professor."
"Thank you, Hagrid," said Minerva McGonagall, her voice crisp and clear.
Hagrid gave a nod and stepped aside.
Professor McGonagall moved forward, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Welco to Hogwarts," she said. "In a few monts, you will join your fellow students. Before you take your seats in the Great Hall, however, you will be sorted into your houses."
"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin," Professor McGonagall continued. "Each house has its own noble history and will be like your family while you are here."
Her gaze lingered briefly on the group.
"While you are at Hogwarts, your house will earn points through achievents and lose points through rule-breaking. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup."
She paused.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place shortly. I suggest you straighten your hats and keep your nerves under control."
Victor noted the way several students swallowed nervously as they approached the Great Hall.
Hermione clasped her hands together, her eyes bright—caught between excitent and unmistakable anxiety.
No one truly knew how the Sorting worked.
That ignorance wasn't accidental. Even children from long-established wizarding families were kept in the dark.
Parents never explained it properly—only offering vague smiles, cryptic remarks, or teasing half-answers that raised more questions than they solved.
Over ti, the secrecy had beco a tradition in its own right. A rite of passage shared by every witch and wizard: equal parts mystery, anticipation, and a touch of harmless mischief.
After all, so experiences were ant to be discovered—not explained.
Professor McGonagall turned sharply on her heel.
"Follow ."
The first-years obeyed at once, filing after her through the stone corridors of the castle.
Finally, Professor McGonagall stopped.
Before them stood a pair of enormous wooden doors, tall and imposing, their dark surface polished smooth by centuries of use.
The doors to the Great Hall.
Behind them ca a low rumble of voices, laughter, and clinking cutlery—hundreds of students already gathered inside.
"Wait here," Professor McGonagall said crisply. "I'll be back in a mont."
She stepped through the great doors and disappeared into the Great Hall.
The doors closed behind her.
Almost instantly, the line of first-years broke into quiet chatter.
"Do you think it hurts?" soone whispered.
"I heard you have to answer questions," another said nervously.
The murmuring among the first-years rose and fell in nervous waves.
Draco Malfoy pushed his way to the front, clearly enjoying the attention.
"So it's true, then," he said, turning deliberately toward the group. "What they were saying on the train. Harry Potter has co to Hogwarts."
Whispers broke out at once.
"Harry Potter?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Harry stepped forward, uncertain but steady. Draco positioned himself squarely in front of him.
Draco smiled thinly and gestured to the two boys looming at his sides. "This is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."
Then he straightened, chin lifted. "And I'm Draco Malfoy."
A snicker sounded from beside Harry.
Draco's head snapped toward the noise. "Think my na's funny, do you?"
His eyes travelled over the red-haired boy next to Harry—robes clearly second-hand, sleeves a little too long.
"I've no need to ask yours," Draco continued coolly. "Red hair and hand--down robes? You must be one of Weasley."
Ron's ears burned red, but he didn't move.
Draco turned back to Harry, lowering his voice just enough to sound important.
"You'll soon find that so wizarding families are better than others, Potter," he said. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."
He held out his hand.
"I can help you there."
Harry glanced at the hand, then looked Draco in the eye.
"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself," he said evenly. "Thanks."
Draco's hand dropped.
For a split second, his expression hardened—anger flashing beneath embarrassnt.
"We'll see," he said coldly.
Before he could say anything else—
Smack.
A hand landed squarely on the back of Draco's head.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?"
The voice was calm. Too calm.
Victor stood behind him, one hand still raised, his expression annoyed.
The corridor fell silent.
"Didn't I tell you not to cause problems?" Victor continued evenly. "We ca here to learn. Not to embarrass ourselves."
For the first ti, Draco looked genuinely startled. Until now, he had been the loudest presence in the room.
"I'm just saying how things are," Draco muttered. "It's the truth."
Victor's eyes flicked to him. "Truth, my foot. You're making a scene."
He caught Draco by the collar and pulled him firmly back into line with the other first-years.
"And you two," Victor added, turning his gaze to Crabbe and Goyle, his voice dropping just enough to make it unpleasant, "if I catch you encouraging this nonsense again with my idiot brother, I'll make sure neither of you enjoy your als for a week."
Crabbe and Goyle froze, nodding hurriedly.
A hush fell over the first-years.
Whispers stirred—quick, curious, surprised.
"They're brothers?"
"Really?"
The resemblance was certainly there—the sa pale hair, the sa sharp features—but their deanours could not have been more different. One looked eager for trouble; the other was sensible.
Hermione glanced between Draco and Victor, then spoke up.
"So… he's your brother?" she asked, clearly surprised.
"Yes," Victor replied calmly. "Twins. Can't you see the resemblance?"
Hermione hesitated.
She very much wanted to say no.
Their faces might have been similar, but their behaviour was worlds apart. If she hadn't just witnessed it herself, she would never have guessed they were related.
Professor McGonagall returned.
The great hall doors swung open.
Warm light spilled out, along with the sound of hundreds of voices. The Great Hall stretched before them—four long tables filled with students, candles floating in midair, and the enchanted ceiling reflecting the night sky above.
Professor McGonagall stepped aside and spoke clearly.
"Hogwarts welcos you."
The chatter inside softened to a curious murmur as the first-years filed in. Heads turned. Conversations paused. More than a few older students leaned forward to get a better look.
Hermione's breath caught. "It's… enormous."
*****
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