Chapter 83: An Unexpected Discovery
Now, only five students were left to be sorted: Alexander Smith, Lisa Turpin, Dean Thomas, Ron Weasley, and Blaise Zabini.
Alexander couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. It seemed that this annoying guy—Zacharias Smith—wasn't even in the same year as Harry Potter.
There were plenty of people named "Smith" in the wizarding world. Zacharias had no relation to Alexander. Just like Hepzibah Smith, a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff, from whom Voldemort had acquired Hufflepuff's Cup and Slytherin's locket—there was no connection.
Zacharias Smith, a student of Hufflepuff House and a former member of Dumbledore's Army, was known for being arrogant and nosy—so much so that the Weasley twins once threatened him with products from Zonko's Joke Shop.
He had only joined the DA to snoop into rumors about Voldemort's return. He wasn't even invited to the initial meeting at the Hog's Head. He just happened to overhear Hermione inviting Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott—and badgered her until she gave in and told him the details.
Later, he pestered Ginny endlessly for information about how Harry and the others broke into the Ministry of Magic, until she finally lost patience and cursed him.
What a nuisance. With that kind of behavior, maybe being named Smith is a curse, Alexander thought bitterly as he stepped forward.
And then—he was suddenly in the spotlight.
"So handsome!"
"Vulgar! Look at the light, the framing! The composition!"
"I've seen this guy before!"
"Mom, I'm in love again—why is it always again?!"
"Smith? Is he pureblood? Whatever, I don't care!" That one definitely came from some obsessed Slytherin girl.
Surprised murmurs and intense stares filled the Great Hall, some practically trying to strip him bare with their eyes.
Luckily, the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, immediately blocking his vision. The darkness gave him a brief moment of calm to prepare to communicate with it.
They said this hat belonged to Gryffindor himself. Was Gryffindor some kind of ghost swordsman—like a blindfolded Asura who slayed foes with his mind's eye?
Alexander's brain wasn't fully shut down—he still had enough awareness to remember that the Sorting Hat only assessed one's character and shallow thoughts. It had little to do with deep memories.
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted before he could even begin a proper conversation.
Alexander's mind went blank. He hadn't even talked to the hat yet, and it had already made a decision!
Wasn't this like grinding to max level for a boss fight, only to find out the game had no combat system at all and was purely narrative-based?
Maybe it was because of the earlier delays or maybe because of Alexander's charm, but when the Sorting Hat made its declaration, the Ravenclaw table erupted with louder applause than usual.
The Ravenclaw prefects were seated at the front—Penelope Clearwater among them—while Alexander, being one of the last to be sorted, had to take a seat near the back. He ended up next to Hermione, with Harry sitting across from him.
Lisa Turpin also joined Ravenclaw. Dean was sorted into Gryffindor, as in the original timeline. Then came Ron's turn.
This time, Ron's sorting took longer than expected—almost as long as Neville's. And then came the surprising result.
"RAVENCLAW!"
Ron jogged over, plopping down beside a wide-eyed Harry and slumping into his seat.
The Weasley twins exchanged surprised looks, and even Percy walked over from the Gryffindor table with his chest puffed out, the prefect badge gleaming.
"Very good, Ron, excellent!" Percy said with dramatic enthusiasm, glancing briefly at Harry.
Then came the last student.
"Blaise Zabini!" Professor McGonagall announced, rolling up the parchment.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat bellowed almost instantly.
With the sorting complete, Professor McGonagall retrieved the hat and stepped aside.
The golden plates on the tables were still empty, though Ron and Harry looked as if they hadn't eaten since getting on the train.
Dumbledore rose, arms spread wide, a warm smile on his face. Nothing, it seemed, made him happier than seeing his students gathered here.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts for the start of another school year! Before the feast begins, I must say a few words. And they are: 'Nonsense! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!' Thank you all!"
He sat down again, and the hall erupted in applause and laughter.
From Harry's side, he noticed his mysterious new friend—Alexander Smith—looking stunned as he stared at Dumbledore.
"Alexander," Harry leaned in, "do you also think... he's a little bit mad?"
Alexander didn't reply. He seemed trapped in thought.
Percy Weasley, who hadn't yet returned to Gryffindor, added with a grin, "Mad? He's a genius—the greatest wizard alive! But yes, a bit mad. Want some potatoes, Harry?"
Harry blinked and suddenly realized—the plates in front of them were now piled high with food.
Wonderful. Truly wonderful.
In Alexander's eyes, Dumbledore, who had just uttered utter gibberish, suddenly resembled a blazing sun—or rather, two suns.
Aside from his own overwhelmingly powerful magical presence, Dumbledore was entwined with another, equally powerful and solemn force. Alexander, aware of Dumbledore's past, could easily deduce its source—Grindelwald.
Alexander's mind began spinning. He traced the magic backward in time, along the invisible threads connecting the two men.
In Godric's Hollow, they had made a blood pact—not to harm each other. But a sudden accident had ruined everything. Their paths diverged for decades: Grindelwald fled to America, using Newt Scamander as a pawn, and they had only interacted indirectly since.
Then in 1945, just before the end of the war, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had met once more. They used their own bodies as prisons, sealing away parts of one another, finding a way to bypass the blood pact that was deeper than marriage.
The victor could impose one condition. The loser could only watch the world through the victor's eyes, stripped of their freedom.
From that point on, the bond between them deepened further. Their magics—and their very destinies—had become intertwined.
The blood pact locket may have been broken, but only its outer shell. What was happening now was sublimation—a fusion at the most metaphysical level.
It was no wonder Grindelwald remained willingly in Nurmengard. It wasn't just defeat that held him there—it was the shared soul, the constant awareness of Dumbledore's gaze. They were now one.
With the memory of that youthful summer between them, Grindelwald could endure even decades of isolation.
Dumbledore had wanted to stop him.
Grindelwald had only wanted to win back his lost love.
Fascinating, Alexander thought.
Truly fascinating.
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