Having gotten our wands, Mistress Blackwood took us to get our other Hogwarts essentials, all paid for by the school, though we were informed that this would have to be paid back in the form of work during our time at school until a time came that we paid it back. As a small gift, we were allowed a small purchase for ourselves, as a kind of going away gift.
The trip to get supplies was more interesting than I expected. We stopped first at a shop called Scrivenor's Fine Stationery, where an elderly wizard with ink-stained fingers measured us for quills.
"These be self-inking quills," he explained, his gnarled hands wrapping each one carefully. "Thou must needs only dip them once per page. They shall last thee the whole term if thou dost care for them properly."
Next was the apothecary, where the air was thick with competing scents. Herbs, minerals, and stranger things I couldn't identify. A woman with gray hair pulled back in a severe bun measured out our potion ingredients with practiced precision.
"Porcupine quills, dried nettles, snake fangs, beetle eyes," she muttered, adding each to our individual parcels. "And a phial of moonstone powder for thy advanced work."
The robes came from a seamstress who used a tape measure that moved on its own, wrapping around our arms and torsos while she called out numbers to a quill that scribbled them down by itself. Magic making even the mundane tasks easier.
At the cauldron shop, a burly man with burns showed us the pewter cauldrons we'd need. The telescope came from a shop that smelled of brass polish, and finally we arrived at the bookshop.
I had used my gift to purchase an introductory book labeled Magical Runes: Language of Magic. Though I think the title was a bit presumptuous, my cursory skim through gave me a bit of insight into applications of runes. The author introduced runes as the written magic, one which done correctly, could imbue magical functions onto an object.
I wanted alchemy for the get rich quick scheme it seemed to promise, but the book itself was locked in a special cabinet, costing enough to buy my entire year of supplies and have some left over. The bookseller had just shaken his head when I'd asked about it.
"Those texts be most expensive, young master," he'd said. "Twenty galleons for the introductory volume alone."
Twenty galleons. Yeah, runes it was.
After retrieving our books for the year, the rest of the supplies were ordered and set to be delivered in a week's time.
Following this shopping spree, we were only allowed to perform supervised magic, in which we were taught the fundamentals of wand casting, mainly how to swing a wand, though the matron didn't like that phrasing.
To put it simply, when Flitwick said a swish and flick, what we didn't see or the children were expected to have known, was the basic movements of casting, namely what in the world a swish and a flick was.
When I asked why we needed a wand to cast magic and instead do it wandlessly, the answer given surprised me but made sense. You see, the magic in youth is a bit restless and turbulent, making conscious wandless magic nigh impossible. So the magical materials of the wand act as a conduit, conducting magic through the wizard, into the wand, and through intent and wand movements, a spell could be cast.
The matron did tell us that when we gain enough control and understanding of the magic, the movements, incantations, and eventually the wand could be forgone to cast a spell. But in the end, a wand was able to amplify the characteristics of magic it favored, while some like unicorn hair weakened a certain contradictory type of magic.
Now I understood why Dumbledore always casted with a wand despite being able to cast wandlessly: a higher magical output means less effort for the same outcome. Which brought another question to mind: did wizards store magic and need time to recover like an mp bar, or were we just conductors of magic? But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.
Goodwife Fletcher was patient with us as we practiced the basic movements for hours. A simple swish. A flick. A circle. A jab. No actual spells, just the motions.
"'Tis not merely waving a stick about," she said sternly, demonstrating again. "There be proper movements, proper forms. Each spell doth require its own motion, and thou must needs learn them precisely."
Margaret picked it up quickly, her movements smooth and natural. Mine were more mechanical, more precise. The engineer in me wanted to understand exactly why each movement worked.
As the days passed and the basics of spellcasting were slowly learned, the first day of school unknowingly approached. It was a Wednesday morning that we were to move into the castle. With a trunk containing our luggage, we were allowed to use the basic levitation charm to carry our trunks alongside us as the Matron escorted us to the castle.
Goodwife Fletcher taught us the levitation charm specifically for this purpose. "Thou must needs visualize the trunk becoming lighter," she instructed. "See it in thy mind's eye. Feel the weight leaving it. Then speak the words with intent. Wingardium Leviosa."
It took me three tries before my trunk finally lifted an inch off the ground, wobbling unsteadily.
"Good! Very good, Nicholas!" Goodwife Fletcher beamed. "Now maintain thy focus. We have a long walk ahead."
The path itself skirted the edge of the forest, crossing over a small creek, and what looked like hundreds of steps. Along the way, we saw a few magical creatures like a unicorn running off as we approached or a niffler we had to shoo away. Even this walk felt magical, much more than a steam train, though more tiring as well.
Strange birds with too many colors called from the trees. Bowtruckles watched us from the branches, their twig-like bodies almost invisible against the bark. Every few minutes, something magical would catch my eye, reminding me that this was real. This was actually happening.
After walking for half a day, we were escorted to a massive drawbridge, gargoyles decorating the top and small openings in the walls I assumed was for arrows or spells, if my medieval castle knowledge was correct. Thankfully, the bridge was already down, being guarded by a young man, looking to be in his thirties and a middle-aged man, gruff looking and missing a few digits on his right hand.
He introduced himself and turned out he was the keeper of keys at Hogwarts and the younger man was the groundskeeper, in charge of repair and keeping the children within the castle grounds.
"I be Wilfred Hawkins, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts," the older man said, his rough voice carrying across the bridge. "And this be Owen Thatcher, the groundskeeper."
Owen gave us a friendly nod. "'Tis my task to maintain the grounds and ensure students do not wander where they ought not."
The matron wished us well and, from I kid you not, her bosom pulled out a broom and slowly flew away, back to Hogsmeade. Out of everything, I am going to miss that little infant, a constant source of happiness. I mean, who doesn't brighten up and smile whenever a baby laughs? Only serial killers and pedophiles, though the pedos may smile for different reasons. Honestly, anyone who doesn't get happy when a baby laughs should be summarily executed for the betterment of society. Joking, I'm joking, unless~
Making my way with Margaret as we followed the groundskeeper, he told us the ground rules of the castle. Under no circumstances were students below the fifth year allowed out of the castle grounds without written permission from the professors and to do so would lead to increasing levels of punishment for each offense, starting from detentions and latrine cleaning to confiscation of wands except during lessons. Which was probably more effective than anything else. It was like grounding a nerdy kid from reading or taking away a tablet or phone from the gamers. Truly, nothing cuts deeper.
Another rule was unauthorized dueling or violence was strictly prohibited and, should it be egregious enough, the student would be expelled from the school, which was pretty much a life ender if one's family didn't have enough magical knowledge to teach the student. After all, in a world with very little books and variety therein, Hogwarts library was perhaps the greatest treasure trove in the world.
Owen went through a few more rules as we walked. No entering the Forbidden Forest. No casting magic in the corridors without permission. No flying on the grounds without supervision. The list went on.
We entered the castle proper through massive oak doors reinforced with iron bands. The entrance hall was enormous. High-vaulted ceilings, stone walls hung with tapestries, a grand staircase leading upward.
Introduced to the deputy headmaster and kept in a waiting area for our sorting that evening.
Professor Septimus Malyn was tall, with auburn hair streaked with silver and keen blue eyes. "Good evening, young students," he said warmly. "I am Professor Malyn, Deputy Headmaster. If you would make thyselves comfortable, the sorting shall begin at sundown. Food shall be brought to thee."
Having a bit to eat for lunch, Margaret and I talked on which houses we sought to be sorted in. I wanted either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw for the potential special library and private dorm, if the fanfictions weren't wrong, and Hufflepuff for the friendly atmosphere and immediate access to the kitchens.
The more I thought on it, the better Hufflepuff seemed. I remember the general consensus was one could enter Ravenclaw if they answered the knocker's question, thus the access to the Ravenclaw library was always accessible, whereas having seven years of kitchen access, yep. That's it, I am going to Hufflepuff. I didn't really care one way or another for Gryffindor as the only real incentive was the famous characters who passed through there and Slytherin was probably inhospitable to a muggleborn like me.
Margaret wanted either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, due to the friendliness and not being a nerd, unlike me. Honestly, that's fair, given her nature I would wager Hufflepuff, she was a bit quiet for a Gryffindor but friendly enough for Hufflepuff.
Of course I hadn't forgotten the Room of Requirement but after four years of college, I came to recognize the place one lives is more important than where one could go. I would rather a homely dorm with midnight snacks than a high tower with books and quicker access to the Room of Requirement. Plus, it will really only come into handy when I am older and capable of the more advanced magic.
After chatting together, we eventually dozed off on a cushioned couch. Minutes slowly passed until I awoke after a couple of hours of sleep. Margaret had slumped onto my arm, reminding me of a younger cousin who falls asleep during a movie and uses your shoulder to prop themselves up asleep.
Taking my book off the top of my trunk, I slowly put an arm around her shoulder and quietly read through the book for runes. I was currently in the portion about different materials being able to take runes better. Turns out that woods and hide are a bit more conducive to runes as they can better conduct them whereas metals are much harder to inscribe upon and given their lack of magical nature, were a bit inhibitive of magic, causing properties to diminish. The upside to metals were they lasted much longer. Perhaps if there were magical metals like goblin silver, the runes could be lasting and amplified. I'd have to look into what makes a metal magical, given my previous assumption of magic belonging to biology, how could a non-living thing be magical?
As these thoughts ran through my mind and I pondered, Margaret woke up, and cleaned up her slightly disheveled appearance. We sat quietly, the sun waning through the window. Now that I looked about, I saw a few students had arrived in the waiting room. There appeared to be about a dozen of us, the rest I guess were half-bloods or purebloods, given they were not from the Muggleborn Tower.
The waiting continued as more students trickled in. Some looked excited, bouncing on their feet. Others looked terrified, pale and silent. A few seemed bored, like this was just another day.
The Deputy Headmaster walked in and called us to gather and follow him. Leaving our luggage behind, we made our way from the waiting room into the Great Hall.
Professor Malyn led us through corridors lit by torches, past moving portraits that called out greetings or warnings, up staircases that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them.
"Beyond these doors," Professor Malyn said as we stood before the entrance to the Great Hall, "lies where you shall be sorted. When you enter, walk to the front. The Sorting Hat will call your names. Sit upon the stool when called and place the hat upon your head. It will determine your house. Do you understand?"
We all nodded, too nervous to speak.
"Remember," he added with a kind smile, "whatever house you are sorted into shall be your family for the next seven years. Treat them well."
He pushed open the doors.
It really was great, with multitudes of floating candles lighting up the room, a ceiling depicting the milky way, and a few long tables capable of seating a few dozen each lining the main floor. There were students sat at each, with a fifth table behind the four, where many adults sat. Up on the dais was the iconic podium, with the professor's table. Sat there was a kind looking plump woman, a skinny blonde haired man dressed in red, the deputy headmaster we had met before, another woman of short stature with bright red hair and a freckled face looking to be in her thirties, and another man who was a large build, towering over the others despite sitting down, and an old bearded man who seemed like a less lively Dumbledore.
Wait, no. Not Dumbledore. This was 1650. Dumbledore wouldn't be born for centuries. This was Headmaster Euric Gamp.
Seated on a stool before us sat a tall, slightly tattered hat. Its brim tremored, and a mouth appeared in the middle as it began to sing.
"In days of old when this school was young,Four founders great their talents brung,To teach the youth of magic bright,And shield them from the world's dark night.
Bold Gryffindor from moor so wild,Brave of heart and strong of child,He sought those with courage true,To face the dark and see it through.
Sweet Hufflepuff, so kind and just,In loyalty and hard work trust,She took all students to her breast,And swore to teach them all their best.
Sharp Ravenclaw with wisdom deep,Knowledge ancient sought to keep,She prized the mind and wit so keen,The cleverest she'd ever seen.
And Slytherin with cunning great,Ambition's fire to celebrate,He sought those pure of magic blood,To rise above the common mud.
Though founders four did disagree,On who should learn their mystery,They crafted me to choose with care,And place each student true and fair.
So place me now upon your head,And I shall see what lies ahead,Your qualities I'll weigh and measure,And find the house you'll come to treasure!"
The hall erupted in applause. I found myself clapping along, genuinely impressed. The hat could sing. Of course it could. Because why wouldn't a magical hat be able to sing?
Professor Malyn stepped forward, holding a long scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name," he announced, "please come forward and sit upon the stool."
He unrolled the scroll and began calling names.
"Blackwell, Thomas!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Catchpole, Eleanor!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Fawley, James!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
Name after name was called. The crowd of first-years dwindled. Some sortings were instant. Others took a full minute or more.
"Whitmore, Margaret!"
She gave me a quick, nervous glance before walking forward. The hat settled on her head, and I could see her lips moving, probably talking to it.
After nearly a full minute, the hat called out: "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Margaret's face broke into a huge smile. She hurried to the Hufflepuff table, where they welcomed her with applause and friendly pats on the back. She found a seat and immediately looked back at me, giving me a small wave.
More names were called. The crowd grew smaller.
And then:
"Nicholas!"
Just Nicholas. No last name. No family name. Just me.
I walked forward, very aware that everyone was staring. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty, and my new wand, still tucked into my robes, felt heavy against my side.
I sat on the stool. Professor Malyn lifted the Sorting Hat, and for a moment, our eyes met. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze. Curiosity, maybe.
Then the hat descended over my head, and everything went dark.
A voice spoke directly into my mind.
"Well, well, well. What have we here?"