Evening had settled in.
As summer drew to a close, the Scottish Highlands still clung to their warmth. The orange sunset filtered through the windows, casting a hazy glow across the third-floor room of the castle.
The room was more spacious than Melvin had expected, divided into two main areas. One side held a desk and bookshelves for work, while the other featured a sofa and coffee table for receiving visiting professors or, perhaps, disciplining students in detention.
A corridor led to the living quarters: a bedroom, a storage workshop, and even a bathroom, all meeting the standards of a proper apartment suite.
The bedroom was roomy, with ample wardrobes and a grand oak four-poster bed, its carvings reflecting Elizabethan style, aged to a deep amber hue.
"All expenses covered, weekends off, plus winter and summer holidays—pretty cushy deal…" Melvin sat on the edge of the bed, testing it with a few bounces, pleased with the results of his busy day.
The bedding was neatly arranged, the mattress perfectly sized. The spring mattress' color clashed a bit with the room, but overall, it was plenty comfortable.
A new Millstream mattress, with fabric-wrapped independent springs and coconut fiber-latex filling—firm yet forgiving.
Hogwarts provided a full set of living essentials, but Melvin Asclepius wasn't used to them and swapped them for his own.
He'd also brought an adjustable office chair with a gas lift, a portable Panasonic vinyl record player, a wind-up clock, and an assortment of books, stationery, snacks, and drinks.
"As the Muggle Studies professor, it's only natural to have some Muggle items on hand…"
Melvin exhaled, surveying the room, now brimming with his belongings.
He couldn't live without the comfort and convenience of Muggle technology, but he was equally inseparable from the fantastical allure of the wizarding world.
Nine months had passed since he left Ilvermorny. Returning to a wizarding school as a Hogwarts professor felt surreal. Though it was his first time in this castle, it already felt grounding and familiar.
Still, he couldn't help but wonder if Headmaster Fontaine would bury him under a Horned Serpent tree if he knew Melvin had skipped out on his Ilvermorny diploma to run off to Hogwarts.
As he reminisced about Ilvermorny, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the clock's pendulum let out a dull chime.
The Start-of-Term Feast was about to begin. Melvin stood, shed his jacket, and pulled a suit from his suitcase to change into.
According to Dumbledore, Hogwarts hosted several grand feasts each year, with the Start-of-Term Feast being one of the highlights. Professors were expected to arrive at the Great Hall before the students, preferably in formal attire.
The wizarding world had suits, but they were less elaborate than Muggle ones. To most wizards, suits were Ministry uniforms for blending in with Muggles. True wizarding formalwear meant robes—dress robes for special occasions. Diagon Alley had Twilfitt and Tatting's and Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, while Hogsmeade boasted Gladrags Wizardwear. For those on a budget, secondhand robe shops were an option.
Melvin opted for a Muggle suit and tie for the feast.
This professor was a bit Muggle.
…
Reading about the castle in books or seeing it in moving pictures was nothing like walking its corridors and staircases in person.
The castle's color scheme leaned dark, its walls and vaulted ceilings crafted from sandstone and limestone, weathered over centuries into a mottled gray-black. The marble staircases were softer in tone, less stark. Straight corridors were lined with empty suits of armor and wizard busts, their bases engraved with their histories.
Green ribbons adorned with the Slytherin crest hung beside intricate carvings—last year's House Cup champions. The decor would remain until next summer's new winner was crowned.
Melvin slowed his pace as he descended the stairs, memories of Hogwarts surfacing and blending with the vivid reality before him, growing sharper with each step.
He paused for half a minute at a landing to decipher the staircases' shifting patterns before continuing.
Hogwarts had 142 staircases, each varying in width and length. Some steps vanished unexpectedly, others swiveled abruptly. Rushing blindly could trap you for half an hour.
At the final step, the Great Hall was just ahead, its double doors wide open, ablaze with light.
"You must be the new Professor Levent," came a voice.
Before Melvin could enter, a short, stout middle-aged witch approached from the entrance hall, her gray hair a fluffy halo, her face lit with a friendly smile. "So pleased to meet you, Professor Levent. I'm Pom'héona Sprout, Herbology."
It was the same witch he'd glimpsed working in the greenhouses earlier.
"Hello, Professor Sprout."
"I saw you this morning in the greenhouse, but I was covered in mud, and the place smelled awful, so I didn't call out. Come, come, let me introduce you to the others."
"Thank you, ma'am…"
Melvin smiled and followed her toward the Great Hall.
The feast hadn't started yet. The four long House tables were empty, save for simple fruit and pastries. The staff table was also vacant, but voices drifted from a nearby lounge.
Following the sound through a side door by the staff table, Melvin met the other three Heads of House.
A tall, upright witch in crisp emerald robes, buttoned to the collar, greeted him. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her steady gaze lingered on his suit for a moment before she nodded. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Levent. I'm Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration."
"Pleased to meet you, Professor McGonagall."
Next to her stood a gaunt man with a hooked nose and greasy black hair framing his face. His expression was blank, his cold eyes meeting Melvin's as he muttered, "Severus Snape, Potions."
Melvin nodded. "Hello, Professor Snape."
"Over here!" piped a small voice. "Filius Flitwick, Charms!"
Part-goblin, Flitwick stood just over three feet tall but moved with startling agility, darting forward to inspect Melvin's suit with enthusiasm. "This is Muggle clothing, right? Quite dashing!"
"It is—Muggle men's formalwear, tailored to fit. If you're interested, Professor Flitwick, we could visit London this weekend. I know a great shop."
"London? I thought you'd say New York."
"You've heard of me?"
"Of course! It's all over the papers. Tell me about Ilvermorny—what are their Charms lessons like? What do they teach?"
"I'd love to learn more about Hogwarts…"
The four Heads of House and the new Muggle Studies professor fell into easy conversation, probing Melvin's past while he subtly inquired about theirs.
Each Hogwarts Head had their own story, though one professor stayed tight-lipped. The topic shifted to McGonagall's youth.
McGonagall was a half-blood, her father a Muggle clergyman, her mother a witch who'd hidden her identity to marry him.
Minerva showed prodigious talent early on, but as an infant, her uncontrolled magic exposed her mother Isobel's secret. Still, their family stayed intact, and soon Minerva had two wizard brothers.
Those were peaceful times. Minerva entered Hogwarts, studied smoothly, and graduated with ease.
The professors grew animated discussing the past. Flitwick reminisced fondly, "I still remember her Sorting Ceremony. The Hat waffled between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for five and a half minutes before choosing Gryffindor. Such a pity… Ravenclaw nearly had a brilliant witch."
Sprout added with reverence, "I started when Minerva was a fifth-year, Gryffindor's Head Girl, top of her year. Her talent in Transfiguration earned her a feature in Transfiguration Today as the best newcomer…"
McGonagall's lips pressed together, a faint smile tugging at them.
"Filius was no slouch either," she said. "The Hat nearly put him in Gryffindor too. By fifth year, no peer could last three minutes in a dueling practice with him—nor could most older students. After graduating, he became a Wizarding Dueling Champion, holding the title for years.
"And Pomona," she continued, "at twelve, she'd already tamed every dangerous plant in the greenhouse."
"That was decades ago," Sprout said.
"Those were the days," Flitwick sighed. "Such fond memories…"
Snape, silent until now, finally spoke. "Pity McGonagall left a regret when she graduated."
Melvin took the bait. "What regret?"
"As Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, she lost her final match against Slytherin. She's been itching to win it back ever since, but no luck."
"…"
Flitwick and Sprout fell silent.
Melvin kicked himself for responding. Why did I engage?
Snape was definitely a conversationalist.
McGonagall's brow furrowed. "That's because a Slytherin player fouled me, causing a concussion and broken ribs. I couldn't play."
"He was duly penalized, and Gryffindor still lost."
"Gryffindor's beaten Slytherin plenty since then."
"Not in the last five years."
"…"
Flitwick and Sprout listened to the back-and-forth, unbothered. The House and Quidditch Cups had mostly bounced between Gryffindor and Slytherin for decades, and their bickering was secretly amusing.
Still, they felt a twinge of guilt for sidelining the new professor.
Flitwick's eyes gleamed as he tugged Melvin's sleeve. "Melvin, want to try the Sorting Hat?"
"Huh?"
"It could help with teaching. We all went through Sorting as students—same-House kids tend to warm up to us. Want to give it a go?"
Adult wizards rarely tried the Hat, so Flitwick's suggestion piqued Sprout's interest even more than Melvin's. "Yes, give it a try!"
"…"
The two professors ushered Melvin out of the lounge to the open area before the staff table.
Every Start-of-Term Feast included a Sorting Ceremony for first-years. A three-legged stool stood before the staff table, the Sorting Hat perched atop it.
The Hat was a tattered, pointed wizard's cap, its faded fabric grayish-brown, stiff from repeated washing like crumpled parchment. Its tip sagged left, patched with mismatched stitches. The brim's jagged tear had frayed edges, and mysterious stains mottled its surface.
Melvin inspected the grimy, worn Hat, steeling himself before placing it on his head.
The brim flopped over his eyes, blocking his view.
His mind churned with thoughts.
No need for Occlumency—those memories weren't in this mind but buried deep in his soul.
Seven years ago at Ilvermorny, all four House statues had reacted to him. Though Ilvermorny's House traits didn't perfectly align with Hogwarts', he likely fit all four here too.
A cool, faint magic brushed his hair, not probing his mind but skimming the surface of his scattered thoughts.
"Oh!" a small voice sounded in his ear. "It's been years since I sat on an adult wizard's head. Still such a mess of thoughts. When will you lot learn that thinking fifty things at once doesn't make your brain faster or more efficient? It just turns it to mush."
Melvin sighed inwardly. I agree, but my brain has a mind of its own.
The Hat seemed to sense this, murmuring, "Don't rush. Control your thoughts, and you'll control your magic."
"Thoughts… magic?"
Before Melvin could ask more, the Hat shifted gears. "Let's see, let's see. Oh, a complex adult wizard. No lack of courage, a decent heart, exceptional talent… complex, very complex…"
Melvin calmed, expecting the Hat to deliberate and ask his preference. But then it sensed something monumental and shrieked, "Slytherin! Absolutely Slytherin!"
"??"
What? Slytherin, just like that?
You didn't even ask my opinion!
Melvin looked up to find Flitwick and Sprout staring at him, their expressions complicated, hesitating to speak.
McGonagall and Snape had stopped their squabble and now stood side by side. McGonagall said nothing, her brow furrowed, lips tight.
Snape, however, seemed to soften, his gaze less icy.
Woo! Woo!
The train's whistle echoed from outside.