Chapter 20: Dinner and Assigned Room
After Harry's inquiry about Professor Snape, we shifted our focus to the incredible spread of food before us.
The feast was truly a marvel to behold. Platters of golden roast chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, crispy Yorkshire puddings, and jugs of pumpkin juice appeared magically on the tables. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of roasted meats and spices, as well as the lively hum of laughter, chatter, and clinking silverware that echoed through the magnificent Great Hall.
Ashton, now seated across from Harry at the Gryffindor table, scanned the surroundings with calm curiosity. While his face remained composed, his mind was anything but quiet—he was analyzing every face, every magical aura, and soaking in the mystical energy that seemed to breathe from the very stones of the ancient castle.
Among the staff, his attention briefly settled on Professor Quirinus Quirrell. Though others might not notice, Ashton clearly sensed two distinct auras emanating from him—one belonging to the professor himself, and the other far darker, hidden beneath the folds of his purple turban. He may be hiding, but I can see you, Ashton thought, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
He also noticed that Headmaster Dumbledore occasionally glanced in their direction, as if quietly observing.
Still awestruck by the events of the Sorting, Harry turned to Ashton.
"That was... amazing," Harry said at last. "The way you pulled that sword out of the hat—how did you even do that?"
Ashton offered a faint, polite smile. "I didn't really expect it to happen," he replied. "The hat and I were... in disagreement. It believed I could belong in several houses, but none felt quite right. So I acted on instinct. Perhaps that helped it decide."
Ron, still chewing on a drumstick, blinked at him in surprise. "Wait, wait. Are you saying you accidentally summoned the Sword of Gryffindor?"
"I wouldn't call it an accident," Ashton replied in a composed tone. "It felt... natural. As though the sword had been waiting for someone to call upon it."
Neville leaned forward, his eyes wide with awe. "That sword looked ancient—but incredibly powerful. Is it really Godric Gryffindor's?"
"Yes," Ashton answered simply. "At least, that's what the Headmaster said. And I trust his word."
By now, a few other first-years had gathered closer, clearly curious.
"Is it true you cast a spell on the Sorting Hat before putting it on?" asked a small, freckled boy named Colin Creevey.
Ashton nodded. "Just a simple cleaning charm. The hat looked like it hadn't seen soap in a few centuries."
That earned a few laughs and nods of agreement.
Another girl, Leah—whom Ashton remembered from introductions—chimed in, "But it glowed when you touched it! That wasn't normal. You must be really powerful."
Ashton met her gaze, his expression thoughtful. "Magic responds to intent. If your mind and heart are aligned, even a simple charm can produce surprising results."
The students exchanged impressed, slightly bewildered looks.
Harry, still trying to make sense of it all, leaned in. "The hat said you fit multiple houses. Which ones?"
"Ravenclaw," Ashton replied after a moment. "And Slytherin, surprisingly. But in the end, the sword chose Gryffindor for me—and I'm glad it did."
Ron gave a low whistle. "Blimey... You might be the most interesting first-year Hogwarts has ever seen."
After the plates had been cleared with a wave of Dumbledore's hand, he raised his arms cheerfully and exclaimed, "Now, let us all sing the school song!"
Each student began singing in their own tune and tempo, creating a chaotic but endearing cacophony of voices. Ashton watched the bizarre tradition unfold with amused curiosity, then joined in near the end, humming a slow, haunting melody that seemed to contrast—but also strangely complement—the lively discord around him.
When the final notes faded and the Hall quieted, the prefects guided the first-years toward their common rooms.
The Gryffindor Common Room
The Gryffindor common room was exactly as its reputation suggested—warm, welcoming, and vibrant. Crimson and gold tapestries adorned the walls, armchairs ringed the cozy fireplace, and the ceiling arched above like a protective canopy.
As the new students filed in, still buzzing from the excitement of the night, Ashton's sharp eyes noted the enchanted details embedded in the architecture—the wards woven into the brickwork, the protective spells that shimmered faintly just beneath the surface.
This place breathes magic, he thought. It's alive.
Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair with a sigh of satisfaction. "Finally! That feast nearly put me to sleep."
"I'm still wide awake," Neville admitted, cradling Trevor the toad nervously. "It's a lot to take in all at once."
Harry nodded. "It is."
He then turned to Ashton. "You've been so calm through all this. Aren't you nervous at all?"
Ashton shook his head. "I've seen strange things before... but Hogwarts is different. It holds a presence. Like it remembers everyone who's ever walked these halls."
A thoughtful silence followed his words.
Assigned Room – First-Year Boys' Dormitory
The group made their way up the spiral staircase to the dormitories. A polished wooden sign above an archway read: "First-Year Boys."
Inside, the room was round and warm, with five four-poster beds arranged in a semicircle. Each bed had deep red curtains and golden embroidery. Trunks lay neatly at the foot of each bed.
To everyone's surprise—including Ashton—his trunk was placed alongside those of Harry, Ron, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom.
Ron grinned. "Well, looks like you're stuck with us."
Ashton gave a rare, amused smile. "I don't mind," he said, settling on his bed.
As they began unpacking, Harry looked over from his own bed. "It's going to be an interesting year."
Ashton met his gaze and gave a small, knowing nod. "Yes. I believe it will be."
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Author's Note:
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