Gryffindor

After stepping ashore, Caesar bid Hermione farewell.

As a Ravenclaw faculty member, he also needed to accompany his direct superior and Head of House, Professor Filius Flitwick, to attend the Sorting Ceremony and the Welcome Feast.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!"

Professor McGonagall, waiting for the new students at the entrance to the Great Hall, stood in solemn black robes.

Even as she spoke words of welcome, her expression remained taut; the uninformed might have taken her for a stern, unyielding witch.

"In a moment, you will pass through these doors. But before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your Houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

At that, a small hand shot up—it was Hermione.

McGonagall gave a slight nod, signaling her to speak.

"Excuse me, which House is Professor Caesar in?"

Hearing the word "sorting," Hermione suddenly realized she had never asked which House Caesar belonged to.

"Caesar?" At the name, a flicker of surprise passed through McGonagall's calm gaze, followed by understanding.

"You must be Miss Hermione Granger. No wonder.

Professor Caesar Habs will be your future instructor in Ancient Magical History. He belongs to Ravenclaw House. Though young, he is a professor of vast knowledge."

Then, McGonagall turned her attention to a few restless students and resumed her interrupted explanation:

"During your time here, your House will be like your family. Excellence will earn your House points. Misconduct will result in deductions. At the end of the year, the House with the highest total will win the House Cup."

No sooner had she finished than a pet toad suddenly hopped out from the crowd. A chubby boy named Neville scrambled to catch it, apologizing profusely to McGonagall.

She merely said, "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin," before turning and pushing open the doors.

During the wait, the curious children began chatting among themselves. Two figures stood out in particular.

One was Hermione. The other was Draco.

Those gathered around Hermione were mostly curious about her connection to Professor Caesar.

Those clustered around Draco Malfoy, however, were almost all acquaintances from pure-blood wizarding families.

In this era, the dwindling pure-blood families could only cling together to retain any voice in the wizarding world.

They might still appear to hold sway, but they were already a dying ember, destined to be swept away by the tide of the times.

Hermione recognized Draco Malfoy, whom she had seen earlier that day. Her gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on him, her mind already racing with several ways to "repay" him.

Draco seemed to sense it and looked back at her.

He loathed the look in Hermione's eyes at that moment. It was not the gaze of an equal, but of the strong looking down on the weak, a hunter sizing up its prey.

"Mudblood," he muttered, his tone arrogant. "I don't know how you got acquainted with a Hogwarts professor, but don't think that changes your blood."

"I'll make you regret every word you just said, every day from now on." Hermione's hand had already slipped into her sleeve, gripping her wand.

After her conversation with Caesar that day, she was well prepared. For this foul-mouthed boy before her, she had a hundred ways to make him rue the moment he spoke.

"Are you threatening me? I'm a Malfoy—Draco Malfoy..."

"Pfft!"

Just as Draco was smugly flaunting his lineage, the red-haired Ron beside him couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Both from pure-blood families, the Weasleys had chosen a path diametrically opposed to the Malfoys' futile struggle against the current.

For such blind, arrogant pure-blood posturing, he had nothing but contempt.

Mocked, Draco glared. "Red hair, hand-me-down robes—you must be a Weasley..."

His words were cut short again. Professor McGonagall's voice rang out behind them: "Everything is ready inside. Follow me."

Seeing this, Hermione released her grip on the wand hidden in her sleeve.

The group entered the Great Hall.

The enchanted candles beneath Hogwarts' vaulted ceiling twinkled like stars, and the four House tables buzzed with the excitement and anticipation of a new school year.

Caesar sat among the other teachers on the staff table, watching the new students with mild curiosity.

Dumbledore sat at the center. After announcing several important prohibitions to the newcomers, the Sorting Ceremony began.

Soon, Hermione's name was called. She had been quietly searching for Caesar's figure, and when she heard her own name, she felt her heart leap into her throat.

She could feel the eyes of the entire school converging on her.

As the battered Sorting Hat was placed on her head, blocking her view, a faint voice whispered in her ear:

"Hmm... very interesting. A brilliant mind, thirsting for knowledge, clear logic, brimming with curiosity... Without a doubt, Ravenclaw will suit you perfectly."

Hermione's heart gave a jolt.

Ravenclaw!

Caesar's House!

She nearly blurted out, "Take me there!"

To be in the same House as Caesar—it was the most perfect beginning she could imagine. Her gaze instinctively drifted toward the staff table, searching for that familiar figure.

However, the Sorting Hat's voice rang out again, tinged with a hint of deliberation:

"But wait, what's this? Such a strong desire to prove oneself, hmm, very strong, and a stubborn refusal to admit defeat, even a bit obstinate.

A refusal to blindly follow established rules, a flame hidden in the heart to change the status quo—this isn't just a Ravenclaw trait.

Slytherin could also lead you to greatness, let you prove your worth..."

At the mention of "Slytherin," Hermione's heart sank.

No, she would never go there.

At that moment, Caesar, seated among the faculty, raised an eyebrow slightly.

It seemed his influence on Hermione was indeed significant.

In the original story, the Sorting Hat had almost unhesitatingly placed her in Gryffindor, but now it was even considering Slytherin.

"No!" she said to the Hat in her mind. "I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone. I just want to learn more, become stronger, and do what I believe is right."

"'What is right,'" the Sorting Hat seemed to latch onto the key point. "A strong sense of morality, the courage to uphold justice, even willing to defy authority for it—very Gryffindor-like bravery.

So, is it Ravenclaw to satisfy your thirst for knowledge, or Gryffindor to act on your convictions?

Or perhaps, Slytherin..."

The hat twisted slightly on her head, as if caught in genuine hesitation.

Time slipped by quietly, and murmurs began to rise in the hall. Hermione's palms grew sweaty with tension, and she looked again toward the faculty table.

This time, her gaze met Caesar's.

Caesar watched her calmly, his face showing no ripple of emotion.

Yet she seemed to read from those deep eyes a trace of encouragement, and a certain reassuring acceptance of any outcome.

Just as Hermione's inner battle raged, and she was almost about to beg the Sorting Hat to place her in Ravenclaw, the Hat seemed to have finally made its decision.

It set aside the possibility of Slytherin, as if it had also seen through her longing for Ravenclaw to the deeper, more blazing source of power beneath.

"Decided!" The Sorting Hat's booming voice echoed through the hall, announcing its final verdict:

"Gryffindor!"