The chill of the lake air brushed against his face.
William sat near the back of the small wooden boat, his trunk carefully balanced beside him, his wand secured beneath his robe. The owl cage rested quietly, its occupant sleeping despite the subtle rocking motion of the vessel.
"Firs' years, follow me!" Hagrid's booming voice echoed across the black water, guiding the boats forward in a slow procession.
Beside him sat Harry, Ron, and Hermione, each quietly taking in the view—nerves, awe, and excitement painted plainly across their young faces.
William, however, was silent, eyes fixed ahead.
The castle emerged from behind the trees like a waking giant, glowing gold under the starry sky. Towers, battlements, and bridges stacked upon one another in elegant defiance of geometry. Its reflection danced on the lake's surface, disturbed only by the ripple of their passage.
He could see where the enchantments blurred space—twisting corridors that couldn't exist under normal laws, windows reflecting halls they didn't belong to, towers built in spirals that should collapse under their own weight.
RAFT noted it all without prompt.
[Structural inconsistencies confirmed. Spatial layering present. Analyzing…]
He didn't need a report. The raw feel of the place was enough. Alive, ancient, magical.
As the boats reached shore, he stepped off and followed the others up the worn stone path. Torches lined the trail, their flames flickering gently in the breeze. The walls of the castle loomed closer with each step, until the massive oak doors stood before them.
They opened.
Professor McGonagall stood waiting, dressed in deep green robes, her posture as precise as her expression.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "In a few moments, you will be sorted into your Houses. While you wait, please remain silent and prepare yourselves."
Her eyes scanned the group. She paused as a frog made its way to her front, a small squirming boy grasping it at once.
After a brief altercation between a blond haired boy and Harry Potter, they were led into the main hall, the other students fidgeting and whispering. Some adjusted their robes, others watched as the first years settled in.
They watched their teachers with awe, curiosity, excitement, anxiety, and many more emotions. William noticed the man with the turban, the half-giant, and an elder dressed in a long gray robe—his eyes glowing with a strange shimmer.
William stood still, arms folded, eyes closed.
Mentally, RAFT was assimilating all the knowledge it had gleaned through his senses. His mind was like a palace, structured carefully with the assistance of his life's work.
A few minutes passed in silence, broken only by the occasional whisper or cough.
Professor McGonagall returned to the hall, now flanked by a floating stool and a frayed, ancient hat that looked as if it had been stitched together a dozen times over.
"The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly," she announced. "When your name is called, step forward and sit. The Hat will do the rest."
All the students turned still, quietly waiting.
Her gaze lingered on the group for a heartbeat longer, then she began.
"Abbott, Hannah."
The girl flinched slightly but moved forward. The hat barely touched her head before shouting, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Applause echoed faintly through the doors, muffled by distance.
"Bones, Susan."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
And so it went. Student by student, name by name. Some took longer, the hat pausing to debate. Others were sorted near-instantly.
William opened his eyes only when "Granger, Hermione" was called.
She strode up briskly, chin held high, sat down—and was placed into "GRYFFINDOR" after a moment's hesitation.
'I'm not noticing much of a difference from the source material, to be entirely honest. I wonder where the differences lie…' William thought, watching in patience.
"Longbottom, Neville."
The boy fumbled his way to the front. The hat debated for nearly a minute before finally calling, "GRYFFINDOR!"
"Malfoy, Draco."
The blond boy strutted forward confidently. The hat didn't take long.
"SLYTHERIN!"
There was a slight chill in the air as the word echoed. William noted the reactions—some students looked impressed. Others disturbed. Slytherin clearly wasn't favored by the other houses.
Then—
"Potter, Harry."
Silence fell. Everyone watched.
Harry walked slowly to the front. The hat slipped over his eyes.
William could almost hear it whispering.
Seconds stretched, and then—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from one side of the hall.
William watched him sit beside Hermione, still looking uncertain but relieved.
Then—
"Hunter, William."
He opened his eyes fully, his turn at last.
The whispers around him didn't bother him. Nor did the curious stares.
He could hear a few students confused as to his origins. The purebloods had never heard of his family, so many were quick to assume him to be a "mudblood."
His parents were truthfully muggles, so their assumptions weren't unfounded. 'Mudblood, muggle, pureblood…does it affect magical performance? I wonder…'
He stepped forward calmly, sitting on the stool.
He faced the Hall—lit by floating candles, watched by four long tables of students, and the staff seated behind him at a grand table.
The Sorting Hat dropped onto his head.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, a voice—ancient and amused—spoke directly into his thoughts.
'Now what have we here…?'
From his brought up memories, William knew of the hat's mind reading capabilities. Regardless, RAFT was impenetrable from any interference other than directly from the "root."
His body's memories, however, those of "William Hunter" were left to the open.
So too were his non-RAFT concerning thoughts, anything separate from the "root."
'Incredible…absolutely incredible.' The hat echoed mentally.
'A muggle-born, learning the entire first year curriculum within a single month. From no prior knowledge, no less? When was the last time I had witnessed such brilliance? Dumbledore? No, not even him.'
The hat mumbled and debated for a few seconds, dragging his sorting as the longest one yet.
'Slytherin? You are ambitious, cunning…Hufflepuff? No, not really…..Gryffindor? Courage, bravery, you have it all…Perhaps Ravenclaw? You are studious, brilliant….and here I thought Harry Potter would be my day's hardest work…..'
The students were turning confused by now, and even the teachers glanced at Dumbledore every few seconds.
'Hmm…although suitable for most houses, it appears your drive and brilliance shine most…'
Opening its mouth, the hat bellowed. "SLYTHERIN!"
Few cheers erupted. The Slytherins were almost fully confident in his "tainted" blood, and the rest of the houses were on bad terms with the "cursed" house.
William removed the hat with deliberate calm and stepped down from the stool. The murmurs from the crowd only grew louder, but he paid them no mind.
He walked toward the Slytherin table.
A few students offered him polite nods—some out of formality, others out of curiosity. None reached out in welcome.
He took a seat near the far end, separate from Draco Malfoy and his circle, who barely acknowledged him.
The Sorting continued.
"Weasley, Ronald."
Another Gryffindor. No surprise there, even without his knowledge of the book.
The final name was called, and the Sorting Hat was carried away.
Dumbledore stood, raising his arms. "Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" His voice, though aged, held clarity and warmth.
His speech was brief—few jokes, a reminder of the forbidden forest's status, and a light warning not to try anything Fred and George Weasley would think was clever.
Then came the feast.
Plates filled instantly. Roasts, puddings, gravies, fruit, cakes—every dish imaginable spread before the students like a king's banquet.
William scanned it all with a glance before selecting a portion of roast beef, roasted potatoes, and a small bowl of fruit.
Around him, the Slytherins slowly engaged in conversation. Most ignored him.
Draco was discussing Quidditch with a tall, sharp-eyed boy who seemed to already carry himself like a prefect. Others talked about teachers, broom models, or which families would be "worth talking to."
William ate in silence, observing each exchange.
'So this is the 'ambition' house,' he mused. 'Yet many seem more concerned with pedigree than potential. I wonder what Salazar Slytherin would think of them now.'
His eyes briefly flicked toward the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were laughing about something, though Harry still glanced occasionally toward the Slytherins with unease.
Across the room, Dumbledore sat watching, his gaze sweeping the hall like a tide.
For a brief second, their eyes met.
William held the gaze evenly. It would do him no good to avoid mind reading, if Dumbledore were to try it. He could avoid it by looking away, but his truly important memories were shielded anyway so he didn't care.
The old man's eyes twinkled—not with mirth, but something… else.
He looked away.
As desserts faded and plates cleaned themselves, Dumbledore stood once more.
"Now that we are all fed and rested, let us move to our dormitories. Prefects, please guide your first years to their respective Houses."
The Slytherin prefect stood, a tall, black-haired boy named Marcus Flint. He grunted for them to follow and led the group through a side door, down a spiral staircase, and into the dungeons.
The descent grew darker and damper. Only the green-glowing torches lit the path.
Eventually, they stopped before a wall of bare stone.
Flint turned and muttered, "Pureblood."
The wall shifted, revealing the entrance.
Inside, the Slytherin common room was unlike anything William had seen in the rest of Hogwarts—low, arched ceilings, greenish ambient lighting, and furniture made of dark wood and black leather.
The windows were set into the lake itself, filtering moonlight through the water and casting shadows that rippled across the floor.
He was shown to a dorm shared with four others. His bed was neatly made, his trunk already brought in.
As the others unpacked or chatted, William organized himself and his things—physically and mentally.
RAFT remained silent, but he had instructed it to catalog everything—every face, every name, every spell he had glimpsed in the feast's showy displays.
Tomorrow, classes would begin.
And his plans would follow.