"The cards are half the fun," Fred said, carefully extracting a shimmering card from his chocolate frog package while trying not to let the remaining chocolate escape his grip. "See, each frog comes with a collectible card of a famous witch or wizard. Some are common, some are incredibly rare."
He held up his card with obvious pride—a moving portrait of a stern-looking wizard with a long silver beard who was adjusting his spectacles with obvious impatience at being photographed.
"Armando Dippet," Fred announced. "Former Headmaster of Hogwarts. Not particularly rare, but still decent. The portrait actually responds if you ask him questions about school history, though he tends to be a bit long-winded about it."
George had managed to catch his own chocolate frog and was now examining his card with the focused attention of a serious collector. "Ooh, this is better—Bowman Wright, inventor of the Golden Snitch. Much rarer than headmasters." The tiny figure on the card was holding what appeared to be a miniature golden ball and grinning with obvious pride in his achievement.
Lee pulled out his own card with theatrical flourish. "And I've got... Merlin himself! Classic card, always popular, though they print quite a few of these." The legendary wizard on the card stroked his long beard thoughtfully while magical sparkles drifted around his pointed hat.
"You collect these?" Gwen asked with systematic interest, already recognizing the potential for organization and cataloging that any collectible system required. "Like, seriously collect them? With trading and everything?"
"Oh absolutely," Fred said with the enthusiasm of someone discussing a beloved hobby. "Been collecting since Charlie started school—that's our older brother—and he passed down his duplicates when he graduated. Lee's got one of the most comprehensive collections in our year."
Lee grinned and pulled a leather portfolio from his bag, opening it to reveal pages of carefully organized cards, each one held in place with small clips and labeled with neat handwriting. "Two hundred and thirty-seven unique cards so far," he said with quiet pride. "Including some of the really rare ones—Agrippa, Ptolemy, the complete set of Medieval Alchemists."
"Medieval Alchemists?" Peter asked, leaning forward with scientific fascination, his own chocolate frog momentarily forgotten. "They have cards for historical magical scientists? That's incredible! Do they include information about their actual research and discoveries, or just biographical details?"
"Both," George said approvingly. "The cards are miniature educational resources. Each one has a brief biography on the back, plus the portraits can answer basic questions about their areas of expertise. It's like having a magical encyclopedia that fits in your pocket."
MJ looked up from examining her own newly-acquired card—a witch with elaborate robes who appeared to be conducting an invisible orchestra with her wand. "Okay, I have to admit, this is actually really cool. Art that moves, educational content, and collectible rarity all in one package. It's like someone designed the perfect intersection of entertainment and learning."
"Who'd you get?" Ned asked with curiosity, Felix perking up on the luggage rack and cycling through interested shades of blue and purple.
"Celestina Warbeck," MJ read from the back of the card. "The Singing Sorceress, popular entertainer of the early 20th century, known for incorporating advanced charm work into her musical performances." She paused, watching the tiny figure conduct her invisible orchestra with obvious passion. "Actually, this is fascinating from an artistic perspective. Performance art that literally incorporated magic as a medium."
Felicia had caught her chocolate frog with casual efficiency and was now studying her card with the kind of analytical attention she usually reserved for evaluating potential opportunities. "Josephina Caldwell, master of transformation magic and advanced illusion work." The figure on the card kept shifting between different appearances—now a young woman, now elderly, now somehow both simultaneously. "Says here she was famous for being impossible to identify because she could change her appearance at will."
"Rare card," Fred said with obvious admiration. "Caldwell cards are notoriously difficult to find. She supposedly enchanted them herself to appear in packages only when the collector had demonstrated proper appreciation for the art of transformation."
"What does that mean exactly?" Felicia asked, though her smile suggested she had some ideas.
"Nobody knows," George replied with a grin. "Which makes it even more impressive that you got one on your first try."
Peter finally opened his own card after securing his chocolate frog, and immediately let out an excited gasp. "Albus Dumbledore! Current Headmaster of Hogwarts!" The tiny figure on the card waved cheerfully and appeared to be twinkling at them with obvious amusement.
"Dumbledore cards are excellent," Lee said approvingly. "Not super rare since he's currently active and relatively well-documented, but they're considered very good luck for first-year students. Plus his portrait is unusually interactive—he actually remembers conversations between viewings."
"The portraits remember conversations?" Gwen asked, immediately recognizing the implications for educational applications and probably already planning systematic interview strategies. "Like, you could actually research magical history by talking directly to the people who lived it?"
"To some degree," Fred confirmed. "The cards have limited magical capacity compared to full-sized portraits, but they retain basic personality traits and memories. Good enough for homework help or settling arguments about historical facts."
Ned had been struggling with his chocolate frog—apparently his had been particularly energetic—but finally managed to extract his card. "Newt Scamander," he read with obvious delight. "Magizoologist and author of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.'" The figure on the card was carefully feeding what appeared to be a tiny dragon while several other miniature creatures climbed around his shoulders.
Felix immediately began cycling through excited colors, clearly responding to Ned's enthusiasm about magical creature expertise.
"Perfect match," George observed with satisfaction. "Scamander cards are popular with anyone interested in Care of Magical Creatures. Plus they're moderately rare—he's still alive and working, but he's reclusive, so there aren't many recent photographs for card production."
"This is amazing," Ned said, holding the card closer so Felix could get a better look at the tiny magical creatures. "Look, Felix—that's a Bowtruckle on his left shoulder, and I think that might be a baby Niffler in his pocket!"
Felix squeaked with what sounded like approval and flashed golden colors that somehow managed to convey both excitement and educational interest.
"So how does the collecting work exactly?" Gwen asked, already pulling out a fresh section of her notebook to document the social and economic structure of magical collectible trading. "Is it just individual accumulation, or is there active trading between collectors?"
"Huge trading community," Lee explained with the enthusiasm of someone who'd found his favorite topic. "Students trade duplicates, negotiate for specific cards they need to complete sets, sometimes even trade magical candy or other items for particularly rare cards."
"There's an entire economy built around it," Fred added. "Some cards are worth multiple chocolate frogs in trade value, others are so common they're practically worthless except for trade bulk."
"Market dynamics in magical collectibles," Peter mused with scientific fascination for the economic implications. "Supply controlled by random distribution, demand driven by both educational interest and completion psychology, value determined by rarity and functional utility."
"Plus social status," Felicia observed with the sharp insight that characterized her understanding of any system where reputation mattered. "I bet having rare cards affects how other collectors perceive your expertise and trading reliability."
"Absolutely," George confirmed. "Show up to a trade meeting with a full set of Founders cards or one of the legendary Ancient Egyptians, and suddenly everyone wants to know what else you might have available."
As they talked, each of them opened more chocolate frogs, building the beginnings of their own collections. The cards proved to be remarkably varied—Peter acquired a medieval potioneer whose tiny laboratory kept producing miniature explosions, MJ found an artist whose paintings shifted between different styles and periods, Gwen collected a famous magical lawyer who kept shuffling through tiny legal documents, and Felicia gained a master of disguise who seemed to be critiquing her fashion choices through elaborate costume changes.
"This is addictive," MJ admitted, carefully arranging her growing collection on the seat beside her. "The combination of chance, education, and aesthetic appreciation is genuinely compelling. Plus there's something satisfying about the physical collecting aspect—actually holding these cards, organizing them, building a tangible representation of knowledge."
"Wait until you see some of the really rare ones," Lee said with obvious excitement about sharing his hobby with new enthusiasts. "The Ancient Greek philosophers, the original Arithmancy theorists, the complete set of Dragon Researchers—some of those cards are practically interactive textbooks."
"Dragon Researchers?" Ned asked with immediate fascination, Felix cycling through what were clearly anticipatory colors. "There are cards for people who study dragons professionally?"
"Oh yes," Fred said with enthusiasm. "Charlie's planning to go into dragon work after Hogwarts—that's our brother—and he's got most of the Dragon Research collection. The portraits can actually demonstrate safe approaches for different dragon species."
"Demonstrate?" Peter asked with scientific curiosity that was clearly building toward comprehensive research questions. "Like, show actual technique and methodology, or just general theoretical advice?"
"Actual technique," George confirmed. "Obviously scaled down and simplified for card format, but genuine professional instruction. Some students use the cards as study aids for advanced Care of Magical Creatures work."
Gwen looked up from her systematic organization of her new cards, her expression showing the kind of strategic thinking that characterized her approach to any valuable resource. "So these cards aren't just collectibles—they're actually educational tools with practical applications for coursework and career preparation."
"Exactly," Lee said with obvious approval for her quick grasp of the system's full potential. "Smart collectors focus on building sets that support their academic interests and future career plans, not just accumulating random rare cards."
"Though random rare cards don't hurt," Felicia added with a grin, holding up her Josephina Caldwell card, which was currently demonstrating an elaborate disguise transformation. "Especially when they're this entertaining."
As the train continued its journey toward Hogwarts, the compartment had transformed into an impromptu trading floor and educational seminar. Cards were passed around for examination, trade negotiations began developing between the new collectors and the experienced ones, and Felix provided color commentary on particularly interesting magical creatures featured in the collection.
"You know what?" Fred said, carefully organizing his own substantial collection while helping the Americans identify their cards and understand relative rarity levels, "I think you lot are going to fit in perfectly at Hogwarts. Anyone who can get this excited about chocolate frog cards has the right attitude for magical education."
"Plus," George added with a grin that suggested he was already planning future mischief involving his new friends, "collectors always look out for each other. We'll make sure you hear about the good trading opportunities and avoid getting scammed by upperclassmen who prey on first-years."
The afternoon sunlight continued streaming through their compartment window, illuminating moving portraits and excited faces as eight new friends bonded over chocolate, magic, and the beginning of what promised to be an unforgettable educational adventure.
—
The chocolate frog cards had been carefully arranged in neat stacks on the seats, and the compartment had settled into the comfortable warmth that came from shared sugar, new friendships, and the anticipation of adventure. Outside the window, the Scottish landscape was growing more dramatic by the mile—mountains rising like ancient sentinels, forests that looked like they harbored secrets, and the occasional glimpse of something that might have been magical activity in the distance.
It was MJ who finally asked the question that had been circling around all their conversations like a curious cat.
"So," she said, closing her sketchbook and giving the group her full attention, "which House do you think you'll end up in?"
The question hung in the air with the weight of something that would define the next seven years of their lives. It was one thing to know the basic descriptions—brave, smart, loyal, ambitious—but it was another entirely to imagine yourself living with people who shared those qualities, studying in those towers, wearing those colors.
Peter immediately started bouncing slightly in his seat, a nervous habit that had intensified over the past hour as Hogwarts grew closer. "I honestly have no idea," he admitted, his voice cracking slightly with anxiety. "I mean, I love learning, so maybe Ravenclaw? But I also really want to help people and do the right thing, which sounds more Gryffindor? And I work really hard at everything, which could be Hufflepuff? I don't think I'm particularly ambitious in the Slytherin sense, but maybe I'm wrong about myself?"
"Peter," Gwen said with fond exasperation, "you're overthinking this. Which is very you, but also probably not helpful."
"How can you overthink something this important?" Peter protested. "This determines where I'll live, who I'll be friends with, what kind of educational experience I'll have—"
"You'll be friends with us regardless of House," MJ interrupted firmly. "That's not changing just because some hat decides to sort us into different dormitories."
Fred and George exchanged one of their patented looks—this one lasting exactly 2.8 seconds and somehow conveying both amusement and reassurance.
"She's right," Fred said with warm certainty. "Inter-house friendships are completely normal. Some of Charlie's best friends are in other Houses."
"Plus," George added, "the Sorting Hat doesn't just look at your current personality. It considers your potential, your values, where you'll grow the most during your time at school."
Lee nodded approvingly. "Exactly. The Hat's been doing this for over a thousand years—it knows what it's doing. Trust the process."
"But what is the process exactly?" Gwen asked, already pulling out her notebook to document what was clearly going to be important information about institutional procedures. "How does the actual Sorting work?"
"Right," Fred said, settling back into storytelling mode with obvious relish. "So picture this—you walk into the Great Hall, which is absolutely massive and filled with hundreds of students, all the teachers sitting at the High Table, floating candles everywhere, ceiling that looks like the night sky—"
"The ceiling isn't actually open to the outside," George interjected helpfully. "It's enchanted to mirror the weather and the stars. Looks completely real, though."
"Anyway," Fred continued, "there's this old stool in front of the High Table, and on it sits the Sorting Hat. Ancient thing, looks like it's been through several wars and possibly a few explosions. Extremely worn leather, patches everywhere, brim that flops over like it's given up on maintaining proper hat posture."
"But then it starts singing," Lee added with obvious fondness for the tradition.
"Singing?" Ned asked, Felix cycling through curious colors on the luggage rack. "The hat sings? Like, actual songs with melodies and everything?"
"Every year," George confirmed with a grin. "Different song each time, usually explains the Houses, sometimes comments on current events or school politics. The hat's got opinions about things and isn't shy about sharing them through interpretive musical performance."
MJ looked up from her sketchbook where she'd apparently been trying to sketch a singing hat based on their descriptions. "That's either the most charming tradition in educational history or completely terrifying, depending on your feelings about public performance by sentient clothing."
"Both," the three British boys said in unison.
"So after the hat finishes its musical number," Fred continued, clearly enjoying having such an engaged audience, "Professor McGonagall calls students up alphabetically. You sit on the stool, she puts the Hat on your head, and then..."
He paused dramatically, which was clearly a learned behavior from years of telling this story to nervous younger students.
"And then?" Peter prompted, his anxiety levels climbing visibly.
"Then the Hat talks to you," George said with simple sincerity. "Inside your head. It's actually quite conversational—asks questions, makes observations about your thoughts and memories, sometimes offers commentary on your worries or expectations."
"It reads your mind?" Felicia asked, raising an eyebrow with the kind of expression that suggested she had some thoughts she'd prefer to keep private. "Like, everything? All your thoughts and memories and embarrassing moments?"
"Not everything," Lee assured her quickly. "More like... it reads your character. Your values, your motivations, the way you think about problems and relationships. It's looking for the fundamental aspects of who you are, not cataloguing every awkward thing you've ever done."
"Though it might comment on particularly interesting memories or formative experiences," Fred added with characteristic honesty. "The Hat likes to understand what made you who you are."
"How long does it take?" Gwen asked, clearly calculating the logistics of the entire process for hundreds of students.
"Varies wildly," George replied. "Some people get sorted in seconds—the Hat knows immediately where they belong. Others take several minutes of deliberation."
"And some," Lee said with a slightly ominous tone, "take long enough that it becomes A Thing. Those are called Hatstalls—when the sorting takes more than five minutes because the Hat genuinely can't decide between two or more Houses."
"Has that ever happened to anyone you know?" MJ asked with artistic curiosity about edge cases and unusual circumstances.
"Charlie took about four minutes," Fred said thoughtfully. "Hat was deciding between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw—he's brilliant with magical creatures and loves learning about them, but he's also brave enough to work with dragons for fun."
"Four minutes of sitting in front of the entire school while a hat debates your psychological profile," Peter said faintly. "That sounds absolutely terrifying."
"It's not that bad," George assured him. "The Hat's good company while you're waiting. Makes conversation, explains its reasoning, sometimes tells jokes. Very considerate about managing sorting anxiety."
"Plus," Fred added, "everyone understands that longer sorting times usually mean you're particularly talented or complex. It's actually kind of impressive rather than embarrassing."
Ned had been listening with growing fascination, Felix cycling through thoughtful purples and blues. "So it's not just about one dominant trait—it's about the combination of qualities and how they work together to create your overall personality?"
"Exactly," Lee said with approval for his understanding. "The Houses aren't rigid categories. There are brave Ravenclaws, ambitious Hufflepuffs, loyal Slytherins, scholarly Gryffindors. The Hat looks for your strongest tendencies and where you'll be happiest and most successful."
"Which brings us back to the original question," MJ said, returning to her sketchbook but clearly still engaged with the conversation. "Where do you all think you'll end up?"
Fred and George spoke in unison: "Gryffindor."
"Family tradition," Fred explained. "Every Weasley for the past six generations has been in Gryffindor. We're brave, we're loyal to our friends, and we definitely believe in fighting for what's right."
"Plus we're not particularly interested in abstract academic pursuits," George added honestly. "We like learning, but we prefer practical application to theoretical study."
"And while we're certainly ambitious about our mischief goals," Fred continued with a grin, "we're not the kind of ambitious that prioritizes personal success over friendship and fun."
"What about you?" Gwen asked Lee.
Lee considered for a moment, absently shuffling through his chocolate frog cards. "Probably Gryffindor as well, though I could see arguments for Hufflepuff. I value loyalty and friendship above pretty much everything else, and I'm willing to take risks to protect people I care about. But I also really believe in fairness and inclusion, which are strong Hufflepuff values."
"The Hat will figure it out," Fred said confidently. "It always does."
"Alright, Americans," George said with obvious curiosity, "what about you? Where do you see yourselves?"
Peter ran his hands through his already-messy hair, making it stand up at even more impossible angles. "I honestly don't know. I love learning and solving problems, which sounds like Ravenclaw. But I also really want to help people and make sure nobody gets hurt, which sounds more Gryffindor. And I work incredibly hard at everything I do, sometimes obsessively, which could be Hufflepuff or Slytherin depending on motivation."
"What motivates you?" Fred asked with genuine interest. "When you're working hard at something, what's driving that effort?"
Peter thought for a moment. "I want to understand how things work so I can make them better. I want to learn enough to help solve problems that matter. I want to be useful to people I care about."
"That sounds more Ravenclaw or Gryffindor than Hufflepuff or Slytherin," Lee observed. "Knowledge for service rather than knowledge for its own sake or for personal advancement."
"Though you could absolutely be a Hufflepuff," George added. "They're not just about hard work—they're about working hard to create inclusive communities where everyone can succeed."
"What about you, MJ?" Ned asked.
MJ continued sketching while she considered the question, her artistic focus allowing her to think more clearly. "Probably Ravenclaw, though I could see arguments for Gryffindor. I love learning and creating, and I think art is fundamentally about understanding the world deeply enough to represent it truthfully. But I also believe art should challenge people, make them think differently, maybe even make them uncomfortable if that's what's needed to create change."
"That willingness to make people uncomfortable for important reasons sounds pretty Gryffindor," Fred observed.
"Or Slytherin," Felicia added with a slight smirk. "Strategic use of artistic expression to influence social and political thinking. Very ambitious in the best way."
"What about you, Felicia?" Gwen asked, though her tone suggested she had some theories.
Felicia examined her nails with that casual confidence that somehow made even mundane gestures look like performance art. "Slytherin, probably. I'm ambitious, I'm strategic about getting what I want, and I believe in using all available advantages to achieve my goals. I'm not ruthless about it—I don't want to hurt people unnecessarily—but I'm definitely focused on success."
"Nothing wrong with ambition," Lee said approvingly. "Slytherin gets a bad reputation sometimes, but most of them are just people who know what they want and aren't afraid to work for it."
"Plus," George added, "ambitious people who value friendship and loyalty make excellent allies. They're the ones who remember who helped them when they're in positions to return favors."
"What about you, Gwen?" Peter asked.
Gwen looked up from her systematic note-taking about Sorting procedures and House characteristics. "Ravenclaw, most likely. I love learning for its own sake, I enjoy solving complex problems, and I think understanding how systems work is the key to improving them. Though I could see arguments for Gryffindor—I definitely believe in standing up for what's right, even when it's difficult."
"Could also be Hufflepuff," Ned suggested thoughtfully. "You're incredibly loyal to your friends, and you work harder than anyone I know to make sure everyone in the group succeeds."
"True," Gwen acknowledged. "I do believe in collective success rather than just individual achievement."
"The Hat will sort it out," Fred repeated with that same confident certainty.
"What about you, Ned?" MJ asked, looking up from her sketchbook where she appeared to be working on a group portrait of their compartment.
Ned reached up to scratch Felix behind his tiny ears, the Pygmy Puff responding with contented purring and warm golden colors. "Hufflepuff, I think. I care more about being kind and helpful than being the smartest or the bravest or the most successful. I want to learn magic so I can take better care of magical creatures and maybe help other people do the same."
"Hufflepuff would be lucky to have you," Lee said warmly. "They value exactly those qualities—kindness, dedication, genuine concern for others' wellbeing."
"Plus," George added with a grin, "you'd be right next to the kitchens. Felix would probably approve of the snack accessibility."
Felix squeaked what sounded like enthusiastic agreement, cycling through what were clearly food-anticipation colors.
"The thing is," Fred said thoughtfully, "the Hat doesn't just consider what you're like now. It also looks at who you could become, what you need to grow into your full potential."
"Sometimes people get sorted into Houses that surprise them," George continued, "but it always turns out to be exactly where they needed to be."
"Like how?" Peter asked with scientific curiosity about the Hat's predictive methodology.
"Well," Lee said, thinking back through school gossip and family stories, "I know someone who thought she'd be in Ravenclaw because she loved reading and research, but got sorted into Gryffindor because the Hat saw that her real passion was using knowledge to protect people. She needed to be with people who would encourage her to be brave, not just smart."
"And there's a guy in Slytherin who everyone assumed would be in Hufflepuff because he's incredibly kind and loyal," Fred added. "But the Hat put him in Slytherin because it saw that his kindness was strategic—he wanted to understand how power works so he could protect people who couldn't protect themselves."
"So the Hat looks at motivation and long-term goals, not just surface personality traits," Gwen said, making notes with obvious appreciation for the sophistication of the system.
"Exactly," George confirmed. "It's looking at the deepest parts of who you are and who you're capable of becoming."
The train was beginning to slow noticeably now, and through the window they could see increasingly dramatic landscape—mountains that looked ancient and knowing, forests that seemed to whisper secrets, streams that caught the evening light like scattered diamonds. The magical world was growing more real with every mile, settling into their bones like knowledge they'd always carried but never acknowledged.
"You know what I think?" MJ said suddenly, closing her sketchbook with a decisive snap. "I think we're all overthinking this."
"How so?" Peter asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected he was guilty of exactly that.
"Because," MJ continued with that particular artist's insight that cut through complexity to essential truth, "we're all here because we care about the same fundamental things. We want to learn, we want to help people, we want to be the kind of people who make the world better rather than worse. Those are good values regardless of which House claims them."
"Plus," Felicia added with uncharacteristic sincerity, "we've already proven we work well together. We've got different strengths and different approaches, but we complement each other. That's not going to change just because we sleep in different towers."
"She's right," Ned said with growing confidence, Felix cycling through decisive blues and purples. "We're a team. Teams don't fall apart because of housing assignments."
"Besides," Fred said with a grin that suggested he was about to share wisdom earned through years of Hogwarts experience, "some of the best friendships at school are between people from different Houses. Different perspectives, different skills, different approaches to problems—it makes for much more interesting conversations."
"And better collaborative mischief," George added with matching enthusiasm.
"I'm not sure we should be encouraging collaborative mischief," Gwen said, though she was fighting a smile.
"Oh, you absolutely should," Lee said with complete seriousness. "The best learning at Hogwarts happens when you're solving problems that weren't in any textbook. Usually because you accidentally created them through creative spell application."
The train whistle blew—a long, melodious note that seemed to carry both warning and welcome. Outside the window, they could see lights in the distance, warm and golden against the gathering dusk.
"Is that...?" Peter asked, pressing his face against the glass.
"Hogwarts," Fred confirmed with quiet satisfaction, as though he was personally responsible for its impressive appearance in the Scottish highlands.
They all crowded toward the window, eight faces reflected in the glass along with the magical landscape beyond. The castle rose from the lakeshore like something from the most ambitious fairy tale ever conceived—towers that spiraled toward impossible heights, bridges that spanned gaps that should have required modern engineering, windows that glowed with warm light and the promise of adventure.
"It's perfect," Ned breathed, Felix cycling through rainbow colors of pure joy. "It's absolutely perfect."
"Wait until you see it from inside," George said with obvious pride in his school. "The Great Hall alone will blow your minds."
"And the moving staircases," Fred added with enthusiasm. "Don't let anyone tell you they're just for show—they're actually quite helpful once you figure out the timing patterns."
"How long does it take to figure out the timing patterns?" Gwen asked with practical concern about navigating a castle with dynamic architecture.
"Most people get the hang of it within a few weeks," Lee replied reassuringly. "Though some students never quite master it and just build extra time into their schedules for staircase-related delays."
"Staircase-related delays," MJ repeated with obvious amusement. "Only at a magical school would that be a legitimate academic planning concern."
The train was slowing even more now, and they could see the platform coming into view—a small station that looked like it had been built specifically to serve the castle, with Victorian architecture that somehow managed to look both historically accurate and timelessly magical.
"Right then," Fred announced, standing up and beginning to gather his belongings. "Time to get ready for the real adventure to begin."
"Don't forget," George added as they all started organizing their things, "whatever House you end up in, you'll be brilliant at it. The Hat doesn't make mistakes."
"And we'll all still be friends regardless," Lee said firmly, tucking his chocolate frog cards carefully into his bag. "Some things are more important than house rivalry."
Peter stood up and looked around at the group—Fred and George with their matching grins and obvious excitement about returning to school, Lee organizing his collectibles with practiced efficiency, MJ tucking her art supplies away while keeping one eye on the approaching castle, Gwen double-checking her systematic packing list, Ned settling Felix into his traveling position while the Pygmy Puff cycled through anticipatory colors, and Felicia making final adjustments to her appearance with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she was ready for whatever came next.
"You know what?" Peter said with sudden certainty that cut through all his previous anxiety. "I'm not worried about the Sorting anymore."
"No?" Gwen asked with obvious curiosity about what had changed his perspective.
"No," Peter confirmed, his voice stronger and more confident than it had been all day. "Because MJ's right—we're here for the same reasons, we care about the same things, and we work well together. Whatever Houses we end up in, we'll make them better by being in them."
"Plus," he continued with a grin that suggested his natural enthusiasm was finally overriding his nervous energy, "we're about to learn magic in a castle with moving staircases and talking portraits and a hat that sings. How could that be anything but amazing?"
Felix squeaked what sounded like enthusiastic agreement and flashed colors that somehow managed to convey both excitement and confidence in their collective future.
"Absolutely right," Fred said with approval. "That's the proper attitude for Hogwarts education."
"Adventure, learning, friendship, and just enough mischief to keep things interesting," George added with a grin that suggested he had specific plans for that last item.
The train came to a gentle stop with a final puff of steam, and the sounds from outside changed—doors opening, students calling to each other, the organized chaos of hundreds of young people beginning the transition from journey to destination.
"This is it," MJ said, slinging her bag over her shoulder with artist's grace and checking that her sketchbook was easily accessible for documenting whatever came next. "Ready for whatever the Sorting Hat decides?"
"Ready," they all agreed in voices that carried excitement, confidence, and the absolute certainty that whatever came next, they'd face it together.
Even if they ended up in different towers, even if the hat saw qualities in them they hadn't recognized themselves, even if magical education turned out to be more challenging than they'd imagined—they had each other. They had friendship that transcended house colors, support that wouldn't be diminished by different dormitories, and the kind of bond that came from choosing to stand together when facing the unknown.
The Sorting Hat could put them wherever it thought they belonged. They'd make those Houses better by being in them, and they'd remain exactly who they were—friends who had found each other at exactly the right moment and decided to face magic together.
The adventure was about to begin, and they were ready for all of it.
---
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