The Great Hall of Hogwarts was exactly how it was supposed to be.
And that was the problem.
Candles floating like someone had bullied gravity into submission.
Four long tables filled with nervous children pretending they weren't nervous.
A ceiling pretending it was the night sky because subtlety had died centuries ago.
At the front—
The stool.
The hat.
That hat.
I leaned against a pillar near the wall, hands in my pockets, watching.
Observing.
Not interfering.
Yet.
Sorting Ceremony: Canon Mode Engaged
McGonagall stepped forward.
Her presence alone was enough to silence a room full of children who had never met her before. Honestly impressive.
"When I call your name," she said crisply, "you will come forward, place the Sorting Hat upon your head, and be sorted into your House."
Same speech.
Same tone.
Same cadence.
Canon intact.
One by one, names were called.
"Hannah Abbott!"
Hufflepuff.
Cheers.
"Susan Bones!"
Hufflepuff.
"Draco Malfoy!"
Slytherin, with exactly the amount of smugness expected.
I watched it all quietly.
And now—
I turned slightly toward you.
Yes. You.
Meta Interruption (Because Someone Has to Explain This)
Alright. Let's address the dragon in the room.
I know what you're thinking.
"Why are you so obsessed with canon?"
"Why not just stomp Voldemort now?"
"Why not fix everything immediately?"
Trust me.
I've thought about it.
A lot.
But here's the thing about stories.
Stories hate freelancing.
If I deviate too early—too hard—the universe doesn't just shrug and accept it. No. It compensates.
You save one life too soon?
Congratulations, Voldemort makes three more Horcruxes you didn't know about.
You derail one prophecy?
The Author throws in a bonus Dark Lord with a tragic backstory and worse fashion sense.
Variables pile up.
Chaos multiplies.
And suddenly I'm not fighting canon Voldemort—I'm fighting DLC Voldemort.
No thank you.
So yes.
I respect canon.
Not because I like it.
But because I understand it.
Alright.
Meta rant over.
Back to traumatizing children.
Sorting Continues
"Hermione Granger!"
The hat barely touched her head before shouting—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Thunderous applause.
I smiled faintly.
Good.
Exactly where she needed to be.
"Neville Longbottom!"
A long pause.
A whispering hat.
Then—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The cheer was even louder this time.
Neville looked like he might cry.
Ron Weasley followed.
Same hesitation.
Same outcome.
Gryffindor.
Canon.
Perfect.
The hall buzzed with excitement now.
The sorting was nearing the end.
I straightened slightly.
Because I knew—
My turn was coming.
The Name That Shouldn't Be Normal
McGonagall glanced down at her parchment.
Then up.
Then down again.
There was the slightest pause.
Just enough.
"Adam… Universe."
The Great Hall went silent.
Not the awkward kind.
The something is wrong kind.
Every head turned.
I sighed internally.
"…Of course."
I stepped forward.
And yes—before you ask—
Even at eleven years old, I stood taller than most of the first-years.
Not absurdly tall.
But enough.
Broad shoulders for my age. Calm posture. Face composed.
Handsome in that irritating, unfair way that made people uncomfortable because they couldn't decide if I was intimidating or just annoyingly pretty.
Whispers rippled through the hall.
"Universe?"
"Is that a name?"
"Is he a transfer?"
"Why does he look like that?"
I ignored them.
Because honestly?
I'd heard worse.
The Hat and the Negotiation
I sat on the stool.
The Sorting Hat dropped over my eyes.
Darkness.
Then—
"Oh," the hat said.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just—
"Oh."
I waited.
"…You are interesting," the hat continued.
"That's one word for it," I muttered.
"You have ambition," it said. "Cunning. Intelligence. A strong sense of self-preservation."
"Mhm."
"And an unusual awareness of narrative causality."
"…I hate that you phrased it that way."
The hat hummed.
"Slytherin would suit you," it said thoughtfully. "Power. Influence. Strategy."
I grimaced.
"No."
"Ravenclaw, then," it offered. "You clearly value knowledge."
"Tempting," I admitted. "But also no."
The hat paused.
"…Hufflepuff?"
I actually laughed.
"No offense," I said, "but I'd accidentally traumatize them."
Silence.
Then—
"You are very picky for a child," the hat said dryly.
"I've lived a long life," I replied. "Also—"
I leaned closer and lowered my voice.
"…I'll give you a bribe."
The hat perked up.
"A bribe?"
"Yes."
"…Go on."
"I will ensure Hogwarts remains standing for the foreseeable future."
The hat inhaled sharply.
"That is an exceptional bribe."
"I know."
"…And which House do you desire?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Gryffindor."
The hat snorted.
"Bold. Reckless. Heroic."
"Familiar territory," I said.
The hat chuckled.
"Very well," it said. "But know this—"
The brim tilted.
"—you are not a lion by nature."
"I know," I replied calmly.
"But sometimes," the hat continued, "the best place for a shadow… is beside the light."
Then it shouted—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The Aftermath (a.k.a. Noise)
The Great Hall exploded.
Cheers.
Applause.
Gryffindor table went absolutely feral.
Fred and George were already cheering like they'd won a bet.
Ron stared at me like he was trying to decide if I was cool or dangerous.
Hermione squinted, already suspicious.
I removed the hat and stood.
McGonagall watched me closely.
Very closely.
I gave her a polite nod.
She narrowed her eyes.
Good.
I walked to the Gryffindor table.
Applause followed me like a wave.
As I sat down, Percy Weasley leaned over.
"Universe?" he said stiffly. "That's… unusual."
"Yes," I replied. "I get that a lot."
Harry looked at me, curious but smiling.
"…Welcome to Gryffindor," he said.
I smiled back.
"Glad to be here."
Closing Thoughts (Because Of Course)
As the ceremony ended and food appeared—
I leaned back slightly and glanced inward.
Alice and Rosalie were watching through the TV function.
Alice clapped excitedly.
"He bribed the hat!"
Rosalie sighed.
"Of course he did."
I smirked faintly.
Canon preserved.
Variables minimized.
Position secured.
And now—
The game truly began.
[Chapter Eighteen Complete.]