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Chapter 21: Sorting Ceremony (2)
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 02:31:24 +0000 UTCThe Hat straightened up. And began to sing.
A deep, cadenced voice that carried easily through the walls of the Great Hall.
Ryan crossed his arms and listened intently.
The song spoke of the four houses, as always, but this year it had new verses, as if the Hat had learned some lessons from the past year.
A message about unity.
About learning from the past.
About how courage does not reside in a banner, but in the choices you make.
When the song ended, there was polite applause, some more enthusiastic than others.
McGonagall, with her usual firmness, unrolled a parchment and began to read names.
“Abernathy, Clara.”
A small girl stepped forward, trembling.
The Hat had barely touched her head before it shouted:
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
And so, one by one, the parade of new names and future students began.
Ryan watched it all closely, though his expression remained relaxed.
As more names were called, he kept a mental tally of which houses they went to.
Two to Hufflepuff.
One to Ravenclaw.
One to Slytherin.
One to Gryffindor.
And so it continued.
He remembered, thanks to the original Ryan’s memories, that the number of new students per house wasn’t fixed, but there was an average.
Between 17 and 22 per house.
Multiplied by 4 houses… between 65 and 85 new students each year.
Seven years in total. Which meant an estimated Hogwarts population of between 455 and nearly 600 students.
Smaller than most people imagined.
Small for a boarding school. Tiny if compared to Muggle schools, where a single secondary school could have over a thousand students.
And that’s not even counting that in the Muggle world there are dozens of schools per city.
Here, meanwhile, Hogwarts was the only magical institution in all of Britain.
Just as Pandora had predicted, Hufflepuff was in the lead by three students. Gryffindor was right behind.
McGonagall continued reading, her tone clear and firm.
“Dolohov, Antonin.”
Ryan lifted his gaze. That name he did recognize.
A thin boy, with dark hair and a blank expression, approached the stool. He walked as if he already knew where he was going.
The Hat had barely brushed his head.
“SLYTHERIN!”
The snakes erupted into applause.
Ryan, for his part, did not clap. He only watched.
Antonin Dolohov. A future Death Eater. Survivor of the First and Second Wizarding Wars. One who would take part in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.
And the same who would later attack Harry, Hermione, and Ron in a Muggle restaurant when they fled from Ron’s brother’s wedding to begin their mission to destroy the Horcruxes.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. How young he was now. Just a boy like any other. Who, in the not-so-distant future, would become a murderer, a torturer…
'Should I…?'
He pushed those thoughts out of his head, he had already wrestled with that dilemma before and didn’t want to go back there.
Beyond Antonin, Ryan didn’t recognize many others, neither Death Eaters nor allies.
At the Slytherin table, however, after searching, he spotted Regulus Black, Sirius’s younger brother. Unlike his elder sibling, he sat with his back straight, his gaze cold, and the poise of royalty. He was in second year.
'Maybe him… maybe I can bring him to my side,' Ryan thought.
The ceremony ended after a final “RAVENCLAW!”, and the Hat was removed from the stool with its usual formality.
Applause mingled with murmurs, yawns, and growling stomachs.
Hufflepuff received 21 new students.
Gryffindor, 19.
Ravenclaw, 18.
And Slytherin, the lowest count, 16.
A total of 74 new students.
A number within the average, according to the calculations Ryan had been running in his head.
Not low, not particularly high.
Pandora had won. Ryan would have to do her Potions homework for a week.
'Damn, the year hasn’t even started and I already have less time in my routine,' Ryan thought with a grimace. Then he searched for her with his eyes, and she was already looking at him.
A slight triumphant smile curled on her lips, and she seemed to savor the sight of his resigned expression, as if it were something new she’d just discovered about him.
Ryan looked back at her and let out a long exhale, like someone accepting defeat with grace.
Then he made the smallest of gestures, as if tipping an invisible hat, surrendering to her logic.
Pandora let out a soft laugh, amused, almost musical.
She gave him a little wave, like someone acknowledging a worthy opponent, before turning back to her table just as the banquet began to appear magically on the plates.
The Great Hall filled with aromas, murmurs, and the metallic sound of cutlery clinking against dishes.
Ryan ate in silence.
He had no one to talk to, and it didn’t really bother him.
His Gryffindor classmates barely looked at him, and when they did, it was with that mix of restrained annoyance and silent judgment. The upper years were even worse.
And of course, he wasn’t going to talk to the younger students.
Nor did he need to.
Maybe he’d find it amusing to befriend the future parents of Harry Potter. And also Sirius and Lupin, two great characters he had loved when he read the books. They were only a year younger than him, so he could connect. But it would be strange to suddenly strike up friendly conversation out of nowhere, considering both his personality and that of the former Ryan.
When the plates were cleared away by magic and the desserts began to vanish one by one, Dumbledore rose to his feet.
He spread his arms, smiling, with that expression of a wise old man hiding mischief beneath the wrinkles.
“Before you drag yourselves off to bed like trolls without dessert!” he said cheerfully, “One last tradition!”
Some groaned. Others smiled. Because yes, the song was coming.
'The famous Dumbledore in the flesh,' Ryan thought, watching the old man who looked harmless, yet was feared by Voldemort.
The song was chaos, as it was every year.
And, as always, Dumbledore enjoyed it like a child on Christmas morning.
When the last off-key voice faded, the headmaster brought his hands together in slow applause and declared with good humor:
“Once again, I welcome you to a new year at Hogwarts! May your brains grow… but not your ears quite so much.”
There were some laughs. And then, movement began.
The prefects of each house stood and started guiding students toward their respective common rooms.
The younger ones clustered together, a mix of excitement and nerves.
Ryan rose silently, adjusting his robe, and followed the group without speaking to anyone.
Then Emmeline appeared at his side. She walked calmly, hands clasped behind her back.
“I saw you quiet through the whole feast,” she commented in a serene tone, as if pointing out a mild irregularity.
“You should already know why,” Ryan said without drama.
Emmeline nodded. “The points. They still haven’t forgotten.”
“Yes, and I even asked you to sit with me so I wouldn’t be the outcast no one talks to, but you rejected me,” Ryan said, feigning hurt.
Emmeline held back from rolling her eyes. “If you don’t want to eat alone so badly, you could apologize,” she suggested in her neutral voice. “Since you never showed remorse, everyone just ended up angrier with you.”
“Oh, Pandora told me something similar,” Ryan replied, feigning surprise with a hand over his chest. “I told her I was considering writing an open letter to all of Gryffindor. A deep apology. Maybe include a poem. Something tragic and moving: Oh lions of my crimson sorrow…”
Emmeline let out a huff. Not anger, resignation.
After all, she had respected him for his inventions. For how he had behaved on the train. She thought that, for once, he would drop the sarcasm and be a little more considerate.
'I don’t know why I bother,' she thought, and without another word, quickened her pace to leave him behind.
If he wants to be an outcast, let him.
But before she could get too far, she felt a hand gently take her wrist.
She stopped.
“Hey, I was just joking,” Ryan said, no joke this time, no half-smile. “You know how I am. I’m not the type to go around giving sincere apologies, I won’t deny it.”
Emmeline looked at him over her shoulder, not moving completely.
“But,” Ryan continued, “this year I’m not going to lose them points. I promise.”
And, after a brief pause, he added with a crooked little smile, “Maybe I’ll even earn some. Then someday they’ll stop looking at me like I’m a Boggart with legs.”
Emmeline didn’t respond right away. But she noticed the change. Small, almost imperceptible… yet real.
Finally, she turned fully and walked alongside him again.
“As long as you don’t arrive late in the first two weeks, that’ll be a good start,” Emmeline said, still not looking at him, though the distance between them was gone.
Ryan smiled. “Promise. If I’m late, I’ll give you the glasses free.”
That did make her look at him.
She raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”
'Is it really that rare for me not to be late to class…?' Ryan thought, glancing sideways at her. It was hard to get reactions out of Emmeline, but saying he wouldn’t be late, and that if he was, he’d hand over a pair of glasses, apparently was rare enough.
“Seriously,” he nodded. “If I’m even one minute late, the glasses are yours. Free. Case included.”
Emmeline narrowed her eyes, evaluating him. Then she spoke in her usual serene tone, though with a playful glint in her gaze:
“How many minutes, or seconds, count as late? Because you could walk into class right as the clock changes and technically not have interrupted anything.”
“Oof… how strict. I should’ve expected that from you,” Ryan joked, holding back a laugh. “Fine, then let’s be clear: if I cross the door even a single minute past the scheduled time, I lose. The glasses will be yours.”
Emmeline nodded with a faint smile. “Deal.”
They walked a few steps in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Emmeline realized that, though Ryan was still as sarcastic as always, there was something different about him. Something less… distant. Less provoking without cause.
And, surprisingly, she felt comfortable talking with him. Maybe he wasn’t so much like last year’s Ryan after all.
When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, they stopped. The seventh-year prefect, a boy with slicked-back hair and a spotless robe, looked at the first-years.
“To enter, you must say the password. It changes every two weeks. This week it’s: Courage without arrogance.”
The portrait swung open with a soft creak, and everyone began filing inside.
Ryan held back a smile. At last, he would step into the Gryffindor common room. This was the first time he had truly crossed the threshold.
The round stone portal turned like a magical hatch, revealing the interior.
And there it was.
The high ceiling, the scarlet tapestries embroidered with the golden lion, the fire crackling in a hearth as wide as it was welcoming, and armchairs soft enough to feel like old embraces.
The atmosphere was warm and slightly noisy, with students from every year pouring in and settling down. It was designed to hold up to 200 people, though it never completely filled, he estimated there were just over 130 at most.
Ryan paused for a few seconds, taking it in.
The portrait closed behind them.
'From now on, this will be my home,' Ryan thought, with mixed feelings as his eyes traveled across every corner of the Gryffindor Common Room.
The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm shadows over the stone walls. The armchairs were already occupied by the younger students, whispering to each other or yawning with exhaustion. The older ones were beginning to head upstairs to their dormitories. A couple of prefects were going over basic instructions for the first-years.
Ryan lifted his eyes to the large clock hanging above the mantelpiece. It read 10:18 p.m.
Tomorrow, he’d have to wake up around 7, get ready, then head to the Great Hall for breakfast, and be in his first class at eight.
Class schedules would be handed out the first morning at breakfast in the Great Hall, usually by a prefect or the Heads of House.
'I could test the potion and see if its effects work…' Ryan thought, an idea forming in his mind.
He wasn’t tired. Having finally arrived at Hogwarts, what he felt was the urge to explore.
Then, just as he was about to decide what to do, a familiar voice rose behind him.
“Not going to sleep yet?” Emmeline asked.
She had been about to climb the staircase leading to the girls’ dormitories but had stopped when she saw Ryan still standing there, staring into the fire with that calculating expression that seemed new in him.
“No,” he replied bluntly. “I’m going to grab a book from my trunk and read a bit here.”
Emmeline blinked. It wasn’t an exaggerated gesture, but for someone like her, who rarely showed obvious reactions, it was already significant. She watched him for a couple of seconds longer than usual, as if making sure he was serious.
“Well. I don’t remember Ryan Ollivander, the late-night reader,” she commented with a faint smile.
Ryan arched a brow slightly. “You know, new PR strategy. I need to clean up my image.”
Emmeline shook her head, amused. “Better not fall asleep and end up late. Or you’ll owe me a pair of glasses,” she said, turning to go up.
“Relax, I don’t like losing money,” Ryan replied.
“Good night, then.”
“Good night, Vance.”
Emmeline disappeared up the stairs, a small smile still drawn on her face. Ryan remained still for a moment longer, listening to the last murmurs of the common room, before heading up himself to the boys’ tower.
There were several doors until he found his own and opened it.
The dormitory was spacious, circular, and lined with polished stone. The floor was covered by a warm rug, red with golden borders, slightly worn in the more trafficked areas.
Five four-poster beds, thick crimson curtains, and plush bedding were arranged around the room like petals around an invisible center. Chests, trunks, and personal belongings were beginning to claim their usual space at the foot of each bed.
He had four roommates. Two names he recognized especially: Fabian and Gideon Prewett, the red-haired, lively twins who were inseparable. Younger brothers of Molly, Ron’s future mother, though in this timeline, that fact meant nothing yet.
They reminded Ryan a great deal of Fred and George.
Though they were different. Pranksters, yes, but more measured. Less chaos, more controlled mischief.
They also played on the Quidditch team as Beaters. And while they made people laugh and were popular, they had a maturity the Weasley twins had not shown at their age.
The other two roommates, Callum and Jamie, shot him a brief, unfriendly glance when he entered. Ryan caught the judgment in their eyes—the inevitable reminder of the points lost last year. They said nothing, nor greeted him. He didn’t either.
Fabian and Gideon didn’t even look at him. They chatted between themselves, sitting on their respective beds, pulling things out of their trunks, discussing Quidditch and the new possible recruits for this year. Their indifference wasn’t hostile, but neither was it warm.
Ryan didn’t mind. He walked silently to his bed. Everything was neatly in place. His trunk at the foot. His robe carefully folded.
He opened his trunk, took out his Transfiguration book, the one he had been reading on the train, and left the dormitory again, heading for the common room.
When Ryan left the room, silence fell as everyone stared at the door.
“Was that a Transfiguration book, or did I see wrong?” Callum asked, skeptical.
“You didn’t see wrong,” Jamie replied from his bed, unable to hide his disdain. “Ryan Ollivander. Reading. Voluntarily. On a Sunday night. What’s next? Mulciber asking for permission or saying thank you?”
Gideon chuckled under his breath, but not mockingly.
“Still…” Gideon said as he sat on the edge of his bed, thoughtful, “didn’t it seem strange to you? He didn’t make a single sarcastic remark when he walked in. He didn’t look at us. He didn’t scoff. Not even one of his usual lines.”
“Yeah… I saw more weight on him, or is it just me?” said Fabian, crossing his arms behind his head.
“And since when do we care?” Callum scoffed. “Because of him we lost the House Cup when it was practically ours.”
“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten,” Fabian said. “I just find it curious that now he’s playing the studious one. He probably just wants to earn points so people leave him alone, not because he feels any remorse.”
“Maybe,” Gideon said with a shrug. “Still, if he wants to spend the year reading actual books instead of mocking everyone… I’m not going to complain.”
Fabian nodded slowly.
“As long as he doesn’t mess with anyone, and doesn’t cost us points again… he can do whatever he wants. Though yeah,” he added with a faintly ironic smile, “Ryan picking up a book before bed… that’s front-page news for the Prophet.”
The four of them fell silent for a moment, and then the subject shifted naturally to more ordinary things: schedules, Quidditch, what they might get for breakfast.
