Chapter 3: The Crossing and the Choosing
The black lake stretched before them, a vast expanse of ink-dark water reflecting the star-strewn sky and the magnificent silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. The sight was so grand it momentarily stole the breath from Solim's lungs. He had seen illustrations, heard descriptions, but none of them captured the sheer, imposing magic of the real thing.
"Come on," he said, his voice softer than usual, shepherding a distraught Neville and a wide-eyed Hermione towards one of the enchanted boats. "Pick one. Any one."
Neville clambered in, his movements clumsy with misery. "Solim, Le—Lev... I can't find him. He's really gone." His eyes were puffy and red, making him look like he'd gone a few rounds with a particularly aggressive Cornish Pixie.
"The toad will turn up, Neville. They always do," Solim said, taking a seat opposite him. Hermione settled beside Solim, her gaze fixed on the distant castle. "And honestly, what's so special about that toad? If you want a proper pet, I'll get you an owl. Something that can actually find its way home."
As the last first-year found a place, the fleet of little boats began to glide forward of their own accord, their prows cutting silently through the glassy water. The castle grew larger, its windows glittering like a thousand golden eyes in the night. Even Solim, a boy who prided himself on his composure, felt a thrill that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. It was a feeling of arrival, of a story beginning.
"Oh, it's Hogwarts!" Hermione breathed, her excitement finally overriding her attempts to seem studiously calm. "I've read all about it! In Hogwarts: A History, it says the ceiling of the Great Hall is enchanted to look like the sky outside, and that the moving staircases number over a hundred and forty-two, and—"
"Alright, Hermione, take a breath," Solim interrupted gently, though not unkindly. "But since you mention it, are you still set on Gryffindor? I can't help but think Ravenclaw would be a better fit for you."
Hermione turned to him, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Why do you say that? The books say Gryffindor is the house of the brave! Dumbledore himself was in Gryffindor."
Solim sighed. This was the problem with books; they never gave you the whole picture, just the polished legend. "The books aren't wrong, exactly. They just... omit the practical details. Gryffindor values courage, yes. But in practice, that often translates to a lot of noise, late-night rule-breaking, and a common room that's rarely quiet enough for serious study. Unless you're utterly immune to distraction, it's not the most conducive environment for learning."
He glanced at the castle, then back at her. "Ravenclaw, on the other hand, has its own private library, full of books left by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Slytherin's common room is in the dungeons, surrounded by empty, quiet classrooms perfect for private practice. As for Hufflepuff... well, they're famously loyal and their common room is next to the kitchens. Very friendly, but perhaps not the most ambitious."
He let that sink in for a moment. "You're sharp, Hermione. You have a mind that craves knowledge and order. Do you really think you'll thrive surrounded by people who see recklessness as a virtue and wandering the castle after hours as a hobby? And then there's Potions." He gave her a significant look. "Professor Snape doesn't just dislike Gryffindors; he actively looks for reasons to take points. If you end up there, you'll be dealing with that every Friday."
He then turned his attention to Neville, who was listening with a look of dawning horror. "Speaking of Potions, Neville. I told you to review the introductory chapters. Please tell me you did."
Neville's face went pale. "I... I forgot." He looked down at his hands, ashamed.
"Then I suggest you start tonight," Solim said, not unkindly. "We have a double period first thing Friday. Come to me if you have questions." He glanced back at Hermione. "Of course, if you're both in Gryffindor, I'm sure Hermione would be happy to help you. Right, Hermione?"
"Wha—? Oh, yes! Of course, Neville," she said, though her mind was clearly still wrestling with Solim's assessment of the houses. After a pause, she changed the subject, her voice dropping. "We met him, you know. On the train. Harry Potter."
"Oh?" Solim's interest was mild. "And was the famous Boy Who Lived everything you imagined?"
"It's not that he was disappointing," Hermione said carefully, choosing her words. "He just seemed... rather ordinary. And that Ron Weasley he was with..." She unconsciously reached up to touch her own clean face, a subtle reaction to the mention of his freckles.
"Most famous people are rather ordinary when you meet them," Solim mused. "The legend is always more impressive than the—"
He was cut off as their boat bumped gently against the underground harbour. The sudden jolt, combined with Neville's attempt to stand up too quickly, was a recipe for disaster. The little boat rocked violently, and with a cry of alarm, Neville tumbled backwards into the shallow, icy water of the lake with a tremendous splash.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Solim muttered, scrambling out. He waded into the knee-deep water and hauled a sputtering, dripping Neville to his feet. The boy was soaked through, his robes weighing him down like a lead blanket. With a sigh of exasperation, Solim drew his wand. With a precise flick and a murmured "Tergeo," a stream of water siphoned from Neville's clothes, and a follow-up charm dried the remaining dampness. He repeated the process on his own soaked trousers.
"Alright, first-years! This way! Come on, now!" a booming voice called. Hagrid, holding his lantern high, was herding the other students towards a set of stone steps.
"Let's go," Solim said, nudging a shivering but dry Neville forward. "You were saying, Hermione? About Potter being ordinary?"
As they joined the back of the crowd, Hermione seemed to come to a decision. "Solim," she began, her voice hesitant. "Would it... would it be alright if I joined you and Neville for those study sessions? I know you said most students start from scratch, but... I want to be sure I can keep up."
Solim understood. His casual displays of magic had intimidated her, making her fear she was already behind. He stopped her, turning to face her properly in the dim light of the tunnel.
"Hermione, listen to me. You are not behind. Most of the students here can barely levitate a feather. Your drive to learn is your biggest advantage. Of course you can join us." He managed a small smile. "Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Don't be late."
"I remember," Hermione said, a genuine, relieved smile breaking through her anxiety. "Two, four, six."
"Precisely."
They followed the mass of students up the stairs and into the cavernous entrance hall, where the buzz of hundreds of voices echoed from the closed doors of the Great Hall. The procession was chaotic, with gasps echoing as pearly-white ghosts drifted through solid walls, greeting the new students.
"Are those... truly the spirits of the dead?" Hermione whispered, her eyes wide.
"Ghosts are imprints of magical consciousness, not souls. There's a significant difference. I can explain it later," Solim said briskly. He had spotted Professor McGonagall approaching, her expression stern and a long parchment in her hands.
"The sorting ceremony is about to begin," she announced, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Please form a line and—"
"TREVOR!"
Neville's shriek of joy was so sudden it made several students jump. He broke from the line, diving towards Professor McGonagall's feet and scooping up the missing, perfectly dry toad.
There was a beat of absolute silence. Professor McGonagall looked down at Neville over the rims of her spectacles, her lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. Neville seemed to shrink, his joy instantly replaced by terror.
"My apologies, Professor," Solim said smoothly, stepping forward and pulling a frozen Neville back into line. "He lost his pet toad on the journey. He's just... relieved."
Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over them, lingering on Neville for a moment that felt like an eternity. "Everyone," she said, her voice colder than the lake water, "follow me." She turned on her heel, her emerald-green robes swishing, and led them into the Great Hall.
As the doors swung open, the spectacle within made everyone forget the awkward incident. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, illuminating four long tables packed with students and, at the far end, a staff table. The ceiling was, indeed, a perfect mirror of the velvety night sky outside. And on a simple wooden stool at the front rested the dirtiest, most patched-up hat Solim had ever seen.
A hush fell as the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened like a mouth, and it began to sing. Solim listened with a critical ear. The song was... functional. A straightforward explanation of the four houses, delivered with a certain shabby grandeur.
When the applause died down, Solim leaned towards Hermione, his voice a low murmur. "It's not just the aesthetics, you know. Think of the hygiene. Centuries of sweat and grime from every student who's ever set foot in Hogwarts. It's probably a breeding ground for magical lice."
Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Don't! We're about to have dinner!"
But the damage was done. The whispered comment had spread through the nearby first-years, who were now staring at the ancient hat with newfound horror and disgust. As Professor McGonagall unrolled her parchment and prepared to call the first name, a wave of nervous apprehension washed over the group. For the first time, the reality of the Sorting—and the hat's questionable cleanliness—was truly upon them.