The Fifth Marauder

William lay in bed that night, his mind drifting between thoughts of magic and his new family. The darkness pressed against his eyelids, but sleep remained elusive. A dull throb started behind his temples.

The pain crescendoed without warning. His skull felt like it was being split open, memories flooding in like a tidal wave crashing through his consciousness. Images, sounds, feelings - all fighting for space in his mind.

"Bloody hell," he gasped, clutching his head. The memories weren't gentle - they rammed into place with brutal force. A younger Thomas teaching him to ride a bike. Robert's constant pranks. Michael reading him bedtime stories. His mother's exhausted smile after double shifts. His father's descent into alcoholism.

William rolled onto his side, retching. The original William's life poured in, eleven years of experiences demanding recognition. Football matches in the rain. Scraped knees from climbing trees. The bitter taste of medicine during winter fevers. Each memory carved its own space, pushing against the boundaries of his mind.

"Make it stop," he whimpered, but the assault continued. Birthdays. Christmas mornings. School bullies. First crushes. The overwhelming loneliness of being different. The comfort of books. The joy of solving complex math problems while his classmates struggled with basic arithmetic.

Blood trickled down his face, mixing with tears. His body convulsed as the memories fought for dominance. Two sets of childhood experiences warred within him - one from his past life, one from this William. The pain reached impossible heights.

"Fucking hell, oh god," he choked out, stumbling to his feet. The room spun as he staggered toward the door. His vision blurred - whether from tears or blood, he couldn't tell. The short distance to the bathroom felt like miles.

William collapsed against the shower wall, fumbling with the taps. Water cascaded over him, clothes and all. He retched again, this time bringing up bile. The memories continued their relentless assault.

"Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks," he sobbed, pressing his forehead against the cold tiles. The water ran pink around his feet. His whole body shook with the force of containing two lifetimes of memories.

The original William's essence settled into place like puzzle pieces snapping together. The lonely, brilliant child who'd never quite fit in. The boy who found solace in numbers and books. The brother who watched his family fracture but still held onto hope.

William huddled under the spray, letting it wash away the blood and tears. His breathing came in ragged gasps as the pain slowly ebbed. Two weeks. It had taken two weeks for his mind to make space for both Williams.

"Bloody fucking hell," he whispered, his voice hoarse. The water ran clear now, but the tremors wouldn't stop. He wasn't just himself anymore - he was also the original William Keating, and the weight of that revelation threatened to crush him.

William shut off the shower, his sodden clothes clinging to his shivering frame. The bathroom mirror revealed a pale face streaked with dried blood from his nose. Dark circles ringed his eyes, making him look more ghost than boy.

He grabbed a towel and dabbed at his face. The memories settled like sediment in murky water - visible but unclear. He remembered Thomas teaching him to ride that bike, but the details slipped away when he reached for them. What color was the bike? What season? Had he fallen? His head throbbed at the attempt to recall specifics.

The same happened with other memories. He knew Robert had once pushed him into a pond, but the circumstances blurred when he tried to focus. Michael reading stories became a vague impression of warmth and safety, but the titles and words escaped him. His mother's face appeared clearly in his mind, but her voice... When he tried to remember the sound, pain lanced through his temples.

"Right then," he muttered, peeling off his wet clothes. "Message received. No deep diving tonight."

The broader strokes remained clear enough - his father's slow descent into alcoholism, his mother's increasing absences for work, Thomas stepping up to fill the void. But the daily moments, the small details that made up a life, those remained frustratingly out of reach.

William pulled on dry pajamas, grateful for the empty house. Thomas had taken the twins to some football match, leaving him blessedly alone to deal with... whatever this was. The thought of explaining the blood, the confusion, the pain - it exhausted him just imagining it.

His bedroom felt like a sanctuary as he collapsed onto his bed. The throbbing in his head dulled to a manageable ache. Two sets of memories coexisted now, neither complete but both undeniably real. He was both the college student who died and the lonely eleven-year-old boy who'd lived in this room.

Sleep pulled at him, his body demanding rest after the ordeal. Questions about his fractured memories could wait. For now, he just needed to recover.

The last thing he registered before drifting off was Bonnie jumping onto the bed, her warm weight settling against his side. At least someone was watching over him tonight.

***

William stood at the kitchen counter, methodically chopping onions while Thomas wrestled with a particularly stubborn pot stain in the sink. The familiar rhythm of knife against cutting board brought an unexpected wave of nostalgia.

"You're getting pretty good at that," Thomas commented, glancing over. "When did you learn to cook?"

William's hand faltered for a moment. In his mind's eye, he saw his first-life mother standing beside him, guiding his hands as they prepared Sunday dinner together. The kitchen had been their sanctuary, the one place where awkward silences transformed into meaningful conversations.

"Just picked it up," he mumbled, resuming his chopping. His original parents had meant well, but they'd never quite understood their quiet, bookish son. Except in the kitchen— there, his mother's scientific approach to cooking had matched his analytical mind perfectly. They'd discussed everything from school troubles to life dreams over simmering pots and precise measurements.

The memory sat heavy in his chest as he scraped the onions into the waiting pan. Two weeks in this new life, and he still caught himself reaching for phantom memories, muscle memory from a body he no longer inhabited.

"Rob! It's your turn to clean the bathroom!" Thomas called up the stairs, snapping William back to the present.

"Did it yesterday!" Robert's voice drifted down.

"No, you didn't," Michael chimed in from the living room. "I did it, you lazy git!"

William smiled despite himself, adding garlic to the pan. His new brothers' constant bickering had become oddly comforting, filling spaces that used to echo with silence. The kitchen tasks he'd learned in his previous life had proven unexpectedly useful here, especially with their parents' frequent absences.

"Need help with anything else?" Thomas asked, drying his hands.

William shook his head, stirring the contents of the pan. "I've got it." The familiar motions grounded him, bridging the gap between his old life and new. Here, at least, he knew exactly what to do.

William stirred the sauce, his stomach knotting. Four days since Mom had returned from her nursing contract, and he still hadn't mentioned Hogwarts - or rather, the prestigious boarding school cover story.

"You've got to tell her soon," Thomas murmured, keeping his voice low. "Term starts in two weeks."

William stared out the window, his reflection ghosting against the passing landscape. The gaps in his memory nagged at him like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. Two days - that's how long it took after waking up in this new body for his past life's memories to flood back. But why the delay?

He traced patterns on the foggy glass, organizing his thoughts. The big moments of his first life stood clear as photographs: defending his dissertation, cooking Sunday dinners with his mom, Jake's terrible jokes during their coffee meetups. Yet other memories felt like trying to grab smoke - the harder he reached, the faster they dissolved.

Even his memories of this life followed the same frustrating pattern. He remembered Robert pushing him into a mud puddle on his ninth birthday. Could picture Thomas teaching him to ride a bike in the park. Felt the sting of Michael's attempt at cutting his hair that went horribly wrong. But the spaces between those moments? Empty.

The bullying memories cut sharper than the rest. Derek Thompson shoving his face into a toilet in third grade. James Miller destroying his science fair project last term. The familiar acid taste of humiliation rose in his throat - same as when Andrew Peters had mocked his stutter in calculus class, two years and one lifetime ago.

Being different. Too smart. Too quiet. Too much of a target.

Bonnie stretched in her carrier, pressing a paw against the mesh. William slipped his fingers through the gaps, letting her bat at them playfully. The familiar game anchored him in the present.

"You alright?" Elliot asked, breaking the silence. "You looked miles away."

William pulled his hand back from Bonnie's carrier. "Just thinking about home."

But his mind wouldn't let go of the puzzle. He knew there were gaps - could feel the hollow spaces where memories should be. Like reaching for a book on a shelf and finding only dust. The certainty that something was missing gnawed at him.

What else had he forgotten? What crucial details about this world, about his family, about himself lay buried in those missing moments? He remembered the important plot points from the books, thank goodness. But personal memories? They felt like a half-finished jigsaw puzzle with vital pieces scattered to the wind.

The not-knowing scared him more than he wanted to admit. Would the missing pieces ever slot back into place? Or would they stay lost, leaving him forever uncertain about who he truly was in this new life?

Bonnie meowed softly, drawing his attention back. Her green eyes met his, steady and knowing. At least she seemed to accept him completely, memories or no memories. William scratched under her chin through the carrier mesh, grateful for the simple comfort of her presence.

Clara's voice drifted over from behind her book, discussing something about Hogwarts' founding, but William barely registered the words. His mind circled back to the missing memories like a moth to flame. Two days. Why two days? And why did some memories shine crystal clear while others remained stubbornly out of reach?

The countryside stretched endlessly before them, and William lost himself in thought as the hours ticked by. Bonnie dozed in her carrier, occasionally opening one eye to check on him and her new companions before returning to her nap.

"Mom," Thomas cleared his throat. "Will's got something to tell you."

She looked up, blinking slowly. "Hmm?"

"I..." William's voice cracked. Thomas stepped closer, his presence steadying. Although even before William had regained some of his memories, Thomas' presence made him comfortable, now, he truly felt at home when the boy was nearby. It was clear that before, Thomas was William's father figure.

"He's been offered a full scholarship," Thomas jumped in. "To a boarding school in Scotland. Complete ride— room, board, everything."

Mom's coffee cup froze halfway to her lips. "What?"

"He's been working toward it all year," Thomas continued. "Wanted to surprise you when he got in. It's prestigious— could open doors for his future."

"Think about it," Thomas pressed on. "One less mouth to feed here, better opportunities for Will. Someone's got to make it out of Maple Ridge, right? And if anyone can, it's him."

Mom's gaze shifted between her sons, settling on William. "But Scotland? That's so far." Her voice softened. "And after what happened at your last school, with those boys..."

William's stomach lurched. Another reminder of memories he didn't have - apparently the original William had faced bullies.

"It's different now," he said quickly. "I'm different. And this is a chance I can't pass up."

Mom stared into her coffee cup, tension visible in her shoulders. William held his breath, the kitchen silent except for the soft bubbling of the sauce on the stove.

"When?" she finally asked, her voice rough with exhaustion.

"Two weeks," William said. "Thomas will take me to the train stop. The school's sending someone to meet me there."

She nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "And you're sure about this?"

"Yes." The conviction in his voice surprised even him.

The next fortnight passed in a blur of preparation and goodbyes. William packed and repacked his trunk, double-checking his supplies against the Hogwarts list. Bonnie watched from various perches, occasionally batting at loose quills or parchment rolls.

The morning of September first dawned grey and cool. William stood in his bedroom, surrounded by the familiar walls that had become home in this new life. His trunk sat packed by the door, Bonnie's carrier perched on top. The cat herself was curled in a patch of weak sunlight on his bed, watching him with those knowing green eyes.

His hand brushed against the elm wand in his pocket - a reminder that this was real, that he was actually going to Hogwarts. The thought sent a shiver of excitement through him, tempered by the knowledge that he was leaving his brothers behind.

Voices drifted up from downstairs. Thomas's steady tone as he prepared breakfast, Robert and Michael's usual morning bickering. William took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. It was time to say goodbye.

He grabbed Bonnie's carrier and reached for his trunk handle. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he moved toward his bedroom door, each step carrying him closer to the magical world he'd only read about in his previous life.

William descended the creaky stairs, Bonnie's carrier swaying in his grip. In the kitchen, Robert and Michael's voices carried over the clatter of plates.

"Bet he'll cry first night away." Robert's words held a sharp edge. "Always was a bit soft."

"Says the one who slept with a nightlight till he was nine," Michael shot back.

William stepped into the kitchen. "At least I won't have to hear your snoring anymore."

Robert's head snapped up, his usual smirk faltering for a split second. "Good riddance. Maybe now we'll have enough hot water in the mornings."

"Come here, you prat." William set down Bonnie's carrier and opened his arms. Robert hesitated, then crashed into him with surprising force.

"Don't get yourself killed by any magic monsters," Robert mumbled into William's shoulder. William pretended not to notice the wetness in his brother's eyes when they pulled apart.

Michael joined the hug, his usual wit subdued. "Write to us, yeah? Even if it's just to tell us how much better your new life is."

Thomas stood by the counter, wrapping what looked like egg sandwiches in wax paper. "Breakfast for the road," he said, his voice carefully steady. "You ready?"

William glanced around the kitchen - at the chipped plates, the worn linoleum, the calendar with their mom's work schedule marked in red. This small, cramped space that had become home in ways his previous life's pristine kitchen never had.

"Yeah," he said, picking up Bonnie's carrier again. "I'm ready."

***

The Underground ride to King's Cross felt longer than usual, each stop stretching out as William watched Thomas fidget with his jacket sleeve. Neither spoke much - the weight of the impending goodbye hung between them.

When they emerged onto the bustling platform, William gripped his trunk handle tighter. Somewhere between platforms 9 and 10 lay the entrance to a world Thomas couldn't follow him into.

"This is mental," Thomas muttered, eyeing the solid brick barrier. "You're sure about this?"

William nodded. "Remember what Madam Hooch said? Just walk straight through."

Thomas's jaw clenched. He'd been strong for the others, maintaining his usual collected demeanor. But now, alone with William, cracks appeared in his armor.

"Listen," Thomas grabbed William's shoulder, his voice rough. "If anything happens - anything at all - you write to me straight away. I don't care if you have to use a bloody carrier pigeon."

"Owl," William corrected automatically. "And I will. I promise."

Thomas pulled him into a fierce hug. Different from Robert's desperate squeeze or Michael's playful embrace - this felt like a guardian letting go.

"You're going to be brilliant," Thomas whispered. "Just... come back to us, yeah?"

William swallowed hard, nodding against his brother's shoulder. When they separated, Thomas quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"Go on then," Thomas said, forcing a smile. "Before I change my mind and drag you home."

William faced the barrier, heart pounding. He'd read about this moment countless times, but actually standing here made his palms sweat. With one last look at Thomas, he pushed his trolley forward and walked straight at the wall.

The bricks melted away. Steam billowed across Platform 9¾, and the gleaming scarlet Hogwarts Express dominated his vision. Owls hooted from their cages, cats wound between legs, and students in various states of magical and muggle dress hurried along the platform.

"Five minutes!" A conductor in a crimson uniform shouted, checking a golden pocket watch. "Five minutes until departure! Board now or be left behind!"

William wrestled his trunk onto the train and toward the nearest carriage, Bonnie's carrier bumping against his leg. Inside, the corridor stretched impossibly long, lined with compartment doors that somehow all fit inside what should have been a normal-sized train. Moving photographs of landscapes decorated the walls between compartments, their seasons changing as he passed.

The first compartment he tried held only two students - a boy with sandy hair and a girl whose dark curls were tied back with a blue ribbon. They looked up as he slid the door open.

"Mind if I join you?" William asked, already breathing heavily from dragging his trunk.

The sandy-haired boy nodded, and the girl gave a small smile. "Of course," she said, shifting to make room.

William heaved his trunk onto the overhead rack, carefully setting Bonnie's carrier on the seat beside him. The white cat immediately pressed her face against the mesh, studying their compartment companions with regal interest.

"I'm William Keating," he offered, settling into his seat. "And this is Bonnie."

"Clara Bennett," the girl said, her accent carrying the polish of private education. "Your cat's beautiful."

"Elliot Parker," the boy added, leaning forward with obvious curiosity. "Are you from London too?"

William nodded. "Maple Ridge area."

"Oh," Clara's eyebrows lifted slightly in recognition of the neighborhood's poor reputation, but her smile remained genuine. "We're in Kensington. Father works in finance - though he nearly fainted when Professor McGonagall showed up to explain about magic. Thought it was some elaborate prank at first."

"You got McGonagall?" William asked, remembering his own visit from Madam Hooch.

"She turned our coffee table into a pig," Elliot chimed in. "My parents still haven't quite recovered. We're in Islington - dad's a schoolteacher. What about your family?"

"Mum's a travel nurse," William said. "Got three brothers at home too."

Clara's eyes widened. "Three? That must be wonderful. I'm an only child - gets dreadfully quiet sometimes."

"Trust me, quiet's not something I'm familiar with," William laughed. "What do you both know about Hogwarts so far?"

"Only what's in the books I bought," Clara said, pulling out her copy of 'Hogwarts: A History'. "It's fascinating though - the moving staircases, the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. I've been practicing some simple spells, but nothing seems to work quite right yet."

Elliot nodded eagerly. "Same here. Though I did manage to make my pencil roll across my desk once. Or maybe that was just gravity," he added with a self-deprecating smile. "What about you?"

William considered how much to reveal about his knowledge. "Just what Madam Hooch told me when she took me shopping. Something about four houses we get sorted into?"

Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin," Clara recited promptly. "Each house values different traits. Personally, I think I'd prefer Gryffindor—they're known for bravery and courage. My parents don't really understand much about it all, but my mother just hopes I'll be happy wherever I end up."

"I just hope I don't make a complete fool of myself," Elliot admitted. "Everything's so new. I keep worrying I'll walk into the wrong classroom and end up turned into a toad or something."

William leaned forward, catching Elliot's worried gaze. "You won't make a fool of yourself. There are loads of muggleborns at Hogwarts— like us. We're all starting from the same place."

"He's right," Clara added, closing her book. "Professor McGonagall said at least a quarter of students come from non-magical families. We'll figure it out together."

A gentle knock interrupted them. The compartment door slid open to reveal an elderly witch pushing a trolley laden with colorful sweets. "Anything from the trolley, dears?"

William shook his head, and Elliot mumbled a quiet "no thanks." Clara sat up straighter.

"One Cauldron Cake and three Licorice Wands, please."

The witch handed over the treats in exchange for Clara's coins. Clara immediately offered one of the black twisted wands to Elliot, then raised an eyebrow at William, holding out the second one.

"No, thanks," William said. "Never been much for licorice."

As the trolley witch continued down the corridor, they settled into a comfortable rhythm. Clara returned to her thick tome, occasionally muttering interesting facts under her breath. Elliot nibbled his Licorice Wand with measured bites, as if trying to make it last the entire journey.

William shifted his gaze to the countryside speeding by outside, the green landscape melting into a continuous stream of meadows and woodlands. His thoughts drifted to his future classmates— Sirius Black, who's rebellious nature he knew would be nothing but trouble. Severus Snape, whom would walk a road of destruction and hatred. And so many more.

William stared out the window, his reflection ghosting against the passing landscape. The gaps in his memory nagged at him like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. Two days– that's how long it took after waking up in this new body for his past life's memories to flood back. But why the delay?

He traced patterns on the foggy glass, organizing his thoughts. The big moments of his first life stood clear as photographs: defending his dissertation, cooking Sunday dinners with his mom, Jake's terrible jokes during their coffee meetups. Yet other memories felt like trying to grab smoke - the harder he reached, the faster they dissolved.

Even his memories of this life followed the same frustrating pattern. He remembered Robert pushing him into a mud puddle on his ninth birthday. Could picture Thomas teaching him to ride a bike in the park. Felt the sting of Michael's attempt at cutting his hair that went horribly wrong. But the spaces between those moments? Empty.

The bullying memories cut sharper than the rest. Derek Thompson shoving his face into a toilet in third grade. James Miller destroying his science fair project last term. The familiar acid taste of humiliation rose in his throat - same as when Andrew Peters had mocked his stutter in calculus class, two years and one lifetime ago.

Being different. Too smart. Too quiet. Too much of a target.

Bonnie stretched in her carrier, pressing a paw against the mesh. William slipped his fingers through the gaps, letting her bat at them playfully. The familiar game anchored him in the present.

"You alright?" Elliot asked, breaking the silence. "You looked miles away."

William pulled his hand back from Bonnie's carrier. "Just thinking about home."

But his mind wouldn't let go of the puzzle. He knew there were gaps - could feel the hollow spaces where memories should be. Like reaching for a book on a shelf and finding only dust. The certainty that something was missing gnawed at him.

What else had he forgotten? What crucial details about this world, about his family, about himself lay buried in those missing moments? He remembered the important plot points from the books, thank goodness. But personal memories? They felt like a half-finished jigsaw puzzle with vital pieces scattered to the wind.

The not-knowing scared him more than he wanted to admit. Would the missing pieces ever slot back into place? Or would they stay lost, leaving him forever uncertain about who he truly was in this new life?

Bonnie meowed softly, drawing his attention back. Her green eyes met his, steady and knowing. At least she seemed to accept him completely, memories or no memories. William scratched under her chin through the carrier mesh, grateful for the simple comfort of her presence.

Clara's voice drifted over from behind her book, discussing something about Hogwarts' founding, but William barely registered the words. His mind circled back to the missing memories like a moth to flame. Two days. Why two days? And why did some memories shine crystal clear while others remained stubbornly out of reach?

The countryside stretched endlessly before them, and William lost himself in thought as the hours ticked by. Bonnie dozed in her carrier, occasionally opening one eye to check on him and her new companions before returning to her nap.

***

The evening air nipped at William's face as he stepped off the train, following Elliot and Clara through the sea of black robes. Through the chaos of students reuniting and prefects shouting directions, a flash of deep red caught his eye. His breath hitched— Lily Evans, her hair unmistakable even in the distance.

"Firs' years! Firs' years o'er here!" A booming voice cut through the chatter. William turned to see Hagrid's massive form towering above the crowd, his wild beard catching the lantern light.

"Blimey," Elliot whispered, stumbling slightly as they made their way toward the giant. "He's enormous."

Clara grabbed Elliot's arm to steady him as they approached the fleet of small boats bobbing at the water's edge. "Careful now."

"Four to a boat!" Hagrid called out. "Mind yer step!"

William climbed in first, offering his hand to Clara. Elliot followed, his knuckles white as he gripped the wooden sides. The boat rocked beneath them.

"Room for one more?" A small, round-faced boy stood at the shore, shifting from foot to foot.

William's stomach twisted as he recognized Peter Pettigrew. Knowledge of what this innocent-looking child would become crashed against his conscience. But right now, Peter was just an anxious eleven-year-old, no different from Elliot.

"Of course," William forced himself to say. "Hop in."

"I'm Peter," he said, carefully lowering himself into the boat. "Peter Pettigrew."

They made their introductions as the boat glided across the black lake, the surface smooth as glass. Hogwarts castle loomed ahead, its windows blazing with welcoming light.

"Clara Bennett," Clara offered with a polite nod, though William noticed her posture stiffen slightly at Peter's nervous energy.

"Elliot Parker," Elliot added, still gripping the sides of the boat as it glided across the dark water.

Peter fidgeted with his sleeve. "Are you all, uhm…" He stopped, face flushing in the lantern light. "Muggleborns?"

William watched Peter's internal struggle play out across his features— the hesitation, the quick correction, the embarrassment. The pause hung in the air between them.

"Yes," Clara answered. "All of us."

Elliot nodded, too focused on the gentle rocking of the boat to elaborate.

"Me too," William confirmed, studying Peter's reaction. The round-faced boy seemed to relax slightly at their answers, his shoulders dropping from their tense position.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Peter asked, his voice eager but uncertain.

"Hufflepuff, probably," Elliot said. "Loyalty and hard work— seems straightforward enough."

Clara nodded and then replied. "Gryffindor."

William considered his answer carefully. "Ravenclaw, I think. I've always enjoyed learning new things."

Peter's shoulders hunched slightly. "I'll probably end up in Slytherin," he mumbled, more to himself than to them. William couldn't tell if Peter was pleased or troubled by the prospect.

The boats glided to a halt at the underground harbor, and William's feet found solid ground again. The stone steps leading up to the castle seemed to stretch endlessly upward, their edges worn smooth by centuries of students' feet.

As they entered through massive oak doors, William's breath caught. The entrance hall dwarfed anything he'd imagined from his previous life's readings. Flaming torches cast dancing shadows across stone walls that stretched up into darkness, their light reflecting off suits of armor that seemed to shift slightly when no one was looking directly at them.

"Watch the stairs," Clara whispered, pointing upward. William followed her gaze to see staircases above them moving of their own accord, grinding against each other like pieces of some giant stone puzzle.

Elliot stumbled, his mouth hanging open. "How do they not fall?"

"Magic," Peter supplied helpfully, though his own eyes were wide with wonder despite his pureblood background.

They followed the crowd toward another set of towering doors, these ones carved with intricate patterns that seemed to ripple in the torchlight. The Great Hall beyond stole William's breath all over again. Thousands of candles floated beneath a ceiling that opened to the night sky, stars twinkling between wisps of clouds.

"It's enchanted," Clara breathed, clutching her copy of Hogwarts: A History. "To look like the sky outside."

Four long tables stretched the length of the hall, already filled with older students in black robes trimmed with their house colors. At the far end, the staff table curved in a gentle arc, and there in the center sat Albus Dumbledore.

The headmaster rose, and the hall fell silent. His silver beard gleamed in the candlelight, and his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles as he spread his arms wide.

"Welcome," his voice carried effortlessly across the hall, "to another year at Hogwarts. To our new students, I say this: courage comes in many forms, wisdom takes many paths, loyalty knows no bounds, and ambition need not walk alone. Remember this as you find your place among us."

A pointed hat sat on a wooden stool before the staff table. As William watched, a rip near its brim opened wide, and it began to sing:

"In times of old when I was new,

Four friends united, tried and true,

Built this school with magic strong,

Where young minds learn right from wrong.

Brave Gryffindor sought those with heart,

Who'd never let their courage part,

While Ravenclaw's wisdom pure and bright,

Welcomed those who sought knowledge's light.

Sweet Hufflepuff, with patience rare,

Took those who'd toil and always care,

And Slytherin's ambition keen,

Sought those whose greatness could be seen.

So step right up, don't be shy,

Let me peek inside and try,

To find where you belong at last,

Your future home, forget the past!"

The hall erupted in applause as the hat fell silent. William felt Elliot trembling beside him, while Clara stood tall. Peter fidgeted with his sleeve, and William realized they were about to be sorted.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

"Avery, Marcus!" Professor McGonagall's clear voice rang through the Great Hall.

William observed as a pale, sharp-featured boy with an air of superiority strode forward, his movements confident and practiced. The sorting hat had barely grazed his head when it bellowed, "SLYTHERIN!" The table decorated in green and silver erupted in measured applause, welcoming one of their own with knowing smiles.

"Bennett, Clara!"

William's attention focused intently on Clara as she made her way to the stool. Despite the slight tremor he'd noticed in her hands earlier, she carried herself with remarkable poise. The ribbon in her dark curls caught the light from the floating candles above as she sat down. William could see the way her fingers gripped the edges of the stool, betraying her carefully concealed nerves. The ancient hat dropped over her eyes, and the hall waited.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat declared after what felt like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds. William watched as her shoulders dropped in relief and she hurried toward the table of red and gold, where enthusiastic cheers greeted her arrival.

The sorting continued methodically, each name adding to the growing anticipation William felt about his own upcoming moment. Then came a name that seemed to catch everyone's attention: "Black, Sirius!"

A handsome boy with aristocratic features and carefully disheveled black hair approached the stool. William noticed how the Slytherin table had already shifted, making space, their expressions expectant. The sorting hat took longer with Black than it had with the others, and William could see the boy's knuckles whitening as he gripped the stool. Then - "GRYFFINDOR!"

The silence that followed was deafening. William watched as several students at the Slytherin table literally stood up in shock, their faces contorted with disbelief and, in some cases, fury. A tall girl with similar features to Black looked particularly livid, her pale face flushing an angry red. The young Black's shoulders, which had been tense throughout his sorting, visibly relaxed as a broad grin spread across his face. He practically bounded toward the Gryffindor table, which had recovered from its initial surprise and was now cheering with extra enthusiasm, as if making up for the shocked silence.

"Evans, Lily!"

The striking redhead William had noticed earlier on the platform stepped forward. Her bright green eyes shone with determination as she sat on the stool, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The hat considered briefly, barely ten seconds passing before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" William watched as she gracefully made her way to join her new housemates, though he noticed her glancing toward a sallow-faced boy in the crowd who looked distinctly disappointed. She settled next to Clara, who offered her a warm smile, and William found himself wondering if they might become friends.

William watched Severus Snape's face fall as Lily joined the Gryffindor table. More names passed in a blur until-

"Keating, William!"

His legs felt like lead as he approached the stool. The hat dropped over his eyes, and a small voice spoke in his ear.

"Well, well... what do we have here? A soul that's lived before, carrying knowledge of things yet to come. How fascinating."

William's forced his hands to let go of the stool, where it had been pressing.

"Plenty of intelligence, oh yes. A love of learning that would serve you well in Ravenclaw. But there's something else... A desire to right wrongs, to prevent suffering you've only read about. Courage to face what you know is coming..."

William held his breath.

"You could do great things in Ravenclaw with that knowledge of yours. But I think you'll do even greater things in 'GRYFFINDOR!'"

The last word echoed through the hall. William removed the hat with shaking hands and made his way to the Gryffindor table, settling next to Clara who gave him a warm smile.

"Lupin, Remus!"

The shabby-looking boy became another Gryffindor, followed shortly by "Parker, Elliot" who, true to his prediction, went to Hufflepuff. William caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod.

"Pettigrew, Peter!"

The hat took longer with Peter than it had with anyone else so far. Finally, it declared "GRYFFINDOR!" William's stomach churned as Peter joined their table.

"Potter, James!"

The messy-haired boy swaggered to the stool, and the hat barely touched his head before shouting "GRYFFINDOR!"

Several more students were sorted before "Snape, Severus" became a Slytherin, his dark eyes fixed on the Gryffindor table - or more specifically, on Lily Evans - as he walked to join his new house.