❦ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕 ❦

He watches the group of first years and transfer students emerge from the gigantic doors, on their way to the High Table, AKA the Sorting Hats' location.

The three kids he spoke to earlier on are spread unevenly around the group. Maurice and his oldest sister Vesper walk in the middle of the other black uniforms, and Jannah walks at the front, carrying some kind of confidence she didn't have at first with her as she walks.

The Great Hall's roof shows a dark night, full with stars. A mesmerizing sight every single time, though most by now know that it's not real.

"First year students—and any student—please note that the Dark Forest is strict forbidden area," the head of the school announces, standing up.

Her white robe casts a certain amount of attention on her. As always, every year, her blonde hair is slicked back in a tight bun.

Ava Paige, the head of Hogwarts.

Then she sits back down. The man who was leading the group of new students now speaks up, "You shall come forth. I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted in your Houses... Chuck Bagshot."

A few laughs come from Slytherin's table. "Back shots?" they grin.

Offended, a boy from Ravenclaw turns around. "Don't you know? Bathilda Bagshot? A literal historian."

"Quiet!" Orders the man calling out names: Janson.

The eleven-year-old, curly-haired boy slowly makes his way to the Sorting Hat. His legs wobble beneath his body in fear.

It takes the hat only a few seconds to choose, "Gryffindor!"

Cheers erupt from the table on the left. The ones who don't cheer are clapping or standing up. Thomas claps along with them, happy enough.

A few more kids get sorted before the only name he is familiar with gets called, "Lockhart, Jannah."

"Lockhart?" Whispers the new Gryffindor kid.

Thomas shrugs in response. "Even if they're related to... those guys, they're nothing like them."

"They're?" Chuck frowns.

"She has siblings. They're really nice, by the way."

"Oh, okay." He holds out his hand. "I'm Chuck."

"I caught that. I'm Thomas, nice to meet you." Thomas chuckles lightly before forcing his attention back on the main subject.

As Jannah walks up to the chair, some kids from Slytherin whistle—not cat-calling, but genuine cheers—at her. She smiles, a little too comfortable with it.

Janson places the hat on her head. Again, it waits for a few seconds. The eyes of the hat squint thoughtfully.

"Slytherin!"

The yells of the same group that whistled overtop every other sound in the Great Hall.

Still, an icy feeling runs through Thomas, like the feeling of Hogwart's ghosts floating through him. Her siblings had made it very clear that they're expected to be sorted in Ravenclaw. And if not Ravenclaw, preferably Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.

But they never expected any of them to be sorted anywhere else than Ravenclaw, so that 'preferably' didn't matter.

Either way, he stills claps along. Thomas has no hatred towards Slytherin— well, maybe to some. Even though there is rivalry with every single one of them, he is also some's friend.

Jannah has paled a tiny bit, clearly surprised, but still walks up to Slytherin's. Some kind of smile is on her face. The other students joyfully great her with pats on the shoulder or half-hugs. 

"Maurice Lockhart," Janson calls.

The hat doesn't hesitate to sort him into Ravenclaw. Next is Vesper, who also has no issues being sorted into the 'right' House.

While Maurice is very happy about his new position, Vesper's concerned eyes are only focused on the Slytherins.

"They're all said to be sorted in Ravenclaw," Thomas explains to Chuck.

"And what if they don't?"

"They get Avada Kedravrad—"

Thomas shoots his friend Jeff a look. "I don't think it's that serious."

His father couldn't care less about which house his son would be sorted in. As a teacher—Defense against Dark Arts, in fact—he has seen many things and knows that it is based on more than just what the houses are mostly known for. Not all Gryffindors have to be heroes and not all Slytherins are sly.

"It might be?" Jeff shrugs. "Anyway, where the hell were you this summer? We said we'd hang out."

"Ehm." Helping his father create an illegal wand? Feeding prisoners in their dungeons? Gaining red marks? "I was on a trip with my father."

"Oh, his father," Jeff mimics, though he sounds delighted. "Chuck, his father is amazing. You know D.A.D.A., right? He teaches it and it's the best."

Yeah, his father is so very amazing.

"That guy right over there." Jeff makes a nod towards the High Table. Close to Ava Paige sits his father,—Desmond Romanov—taking slow sips of his cup as his eyes trail over the students.

"He looks scary," Chuck whispers. "Sorry, Thomas."

"He's really nice," Thomas quickly assures. "And funny. And... whatever else students have said about him. Anyway— Chuck, are you related to Bathilda Bagshot?"

The kid's frown deepens. "I don't know a lot about my family, to be honest. What about yours?"

Just when he thought he got the attention off his family.

"It's mostly just my father and I. My mom's very sick," he says, having to swallow some feelings away.

"Oh. What does she have?"

"It's... difficult to explain. But whatever—"

"Do you have siblings?"

Something invisible seems to pierce through his chest, painful and cold. "Sort of."

"I have never, ever heard someone reply 'sort of' to that question. So is it your half-sibling?"

"No, Chuck, it's not. Let's just move on. The Sorting Ceremony hasn't ended yet."

"It actually has." Jeff points at the food that has appeared on the table in the meanwhile. If you'd go in detail about naming everything, it would be a whole book.

"I don't understand. So you do have a sibling. Adopted?" Chuck rubs his forehead.

This kid clearly can't take a hint.

"No. They're full on my sibling—"

"I've never seen your sibling," Jeff suddenly realizes. "What gender? How old? Wait, actually, I have never seen your house."

"It's in the middle of nowhere and my father doesn't want to risk you losing any body parts during the apparition."

That's as close to the truth he can get, because his house really is in the middle of nowhere.

It's uncomfortably big for technically five people. The other three just never feel there to Thomas. His mother has to be fed as she's unconscious, which she always is, and both his little brothers are more alive than his mother, but not... in the right way.

His bedroom and the kitchen—where he has made friendships with the house-elves—feel like the only safe spaces in the whole mansion. 

"Makes sense," Jeff hums. His eyes trail to something behind Thomas. "Eh, they're all staring at you."

The boy freezes in his place. "Who?"

"Slytherins."

"Which ones?"

"Minho's group."

"Oh." He relaxes again, then turns around. The second he does, everyone who was staring at him is suddenly very busy staring at the table.

"I bet it was a 'don't look but that's him' situation, except they all looked," another boy chimes in.

Thomas glances to his side. His brown-haired friend was the one speaking, named Winston.

"I'm just saying," he adds. "Why would they stare at you? What did you do?"

"Eh, all I can guess that has anything to do with Slytherin is my slight communication with Jannah."

"She is sitting with them. Are they gossiping about us? Why do they look like that?" Jeff gives them a nasty glance.

"Minho's my friend, I don't think they want to be rude or anyth—"

"Stare contest," Winston decides, twisting around. Chuck innocently does the same. Probably wants to fit in.

Thomas buries his head in his hands. "Guys, let's just not—"

"THO-MAS!" Minho's voice echoes through the whole hall.

With the reddest face ever, as hot as a fever, Thomas twists around. He mouths, 'what?'

"COME OVER HERE—"

"MR. LEE!" A loud yell from professor Paige. "Stop the yelling!"

Thomas begins walking to the other side of the Great Hall, his cheeks still warm with redness. "What is it?" He hisses.

"Why did you talk to Jannah?"

"Am I not allowed to talk to others from now on?"

"You are, but why her? Did you find her a pretty girl and decided to take your chance?"

The redness increases. "No, my father and I bumped into all three siblings during the apparition. I started talking to them because why not. Then the carriage appeared to be full and Jannah offered to sit somewhere else."

Harriet looks over at the girl, whistling. "You saw us before and then decided to join the cooler ones?"

"Something like that, yes." 

Looking down at his shoes, Thomas shuffles a bit. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Minho grins widely. "We're totally going to win the House Cup."

Immediately, he looks back up. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"And," Minho continues, "I'm also going to take the Quadwizard Cup from you."

"What?" His eyes wide. "That's this year?"

"Don't tell me you haven't prepared. I thought you'd join immediately!"

The Quadwizard Tournament is a competition that consists of three tasks. It takes place every five years, organized for one of the students' year. This year, it appears to be organized for year four.

Houses are allowed to discuss who would be the best candidate. Usually, each House chooses about five kids to put their name in the Goblet Of Fire. Twenty-four hours later, the Goblet will return the names most worthy to represent their House.

The three tasks are different each year, one more extreme than the other. Due to certain policies, it is not deadly, but serious injuries may happen, both mentally and physically, short-term and long-term.

"I will," Thomas confirms. "I was just too busy to be aware of the fact that it will happen in thirty days!"

The tournament always starts on Halloween exactly. The twenty-four hours before that—the time to put your name in the Goblet—don't really count. 

"Well, better get ready, man." Minho chuckles. "Who would we prefer to compete against?"

"It'd be fun if Newt joined," Thomas says.

"Right." Minho turns to Jannah. "Ever heard of Newt Scamander?"

"Obviously."

"We have a Newt Scamander of our own. He is actually related to the real one. Parents decided to name him after his ancestor."

"Damn, we've got lots of historical families here. Lockhart, Bagshot, Scamander, what's next?"

"That's all we know," says Brenda. "But maybe there are more."

"Ugh." Dramatically, Minho lets himself fall until his head is on Brenda's lap. She pushes him off with a disgusted look. "Why am I not a Malfoy or a Black?"

"Reminder that Alby's last name is literally Zabini," Harriet says dryly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"It's unfair," Minho complains. "Even Thomas is rich."

"I'm not rich. My parents are."

"But your mom is sick and your father only teaches D.A.D.A."

Thomas hides the real answer to that with a quick grin. "Mysteries."

"If it helps," Gally starts—

"It doesn't," Thomas interrupts. "I have heard your backstory a million times already."

"And I haven't even heard half of yours," Gally shoots back. "Tell us, what happened in your traumatic childhood?"

"Nothing traumatic, so there is nothing to share."

If only that would be true.

"Anyway, I'm going back to my table. Bye."

"Bye, TommyBoy," Minho says, his tone girlish and flirty. "BY THE WAY, IS IT TRUE THAT YOU—"

"MR. LEE!"