Chapter Text
Harry Potter is already considered a freak before he learned that he's a wizard. At first, he is still a scrawny boy living under the stairs, but he has an uncanny, obsessive habit of sketching complex mechanical blueprints on his homework scraps. He’s brilliant at inventing things out of Muggle junk, highly analytical, and possesses a sarcastic, dry wit that masks his deep loneliness, which drives the Dursleys barmy.
One time, he reverse-engineered Dudley's broken toys and made them functional again to be sold at the garage sale, earning himself some keep behind their backs.
Harry thought he would live a boring, neglectful life when a mysterious letter arrived for him. The Dursleys tried to intercept these letters, but those letters kept coming, even blasting out of the fireplace.
It wasn't long before someone barged into the shack they were staying at, a man who looked like he could lift the heaviest barbell. His name was Hagrid, and he told Harry that he was a wizard. His response?
"Well, what a surprise." Hagrid blinked at Harry's sarcasm.
Anyway, Hagrid brought him for a shopping trip, and Harry was overwhelmed by how famous he was in the Wizarding world, but the alley itself didn't disappoint him. Everywhere he goes, he becomes curious about the mechanics of the magic around him, even the wands when he's at Ollivanders, much to the wandmaker's perplexity. In the end, Harry came out at least alive with school supplies and a snowy owl Hagrid gifted him for his birthday.
When Harry entered King's Cross, he wasn't sure where to find the specific platform after he stopped between Platforms nine and ten. Then, he looked through the pillars in search of a secret mechanism, and he found it in the form of an elusive, magical barrier between said platforms.
"Well, that was easy," He said before he pushed his trolley in.
He was deeply amazed by the locomotive itself the moment he opened his eyes, but he didn't waste time, so he went to find a compartment and get settled before the train left the station. During the journey, he was busy sketching schematics on prosthetic contraptions in his notebook when someone opened the door.
"Excuse me, do you mind? Everywhere else is full."
Ever since Hermione Granger was born, she has been considered slightly "odd" by her peers. At first, she is considered fiercely academic. However, her "know-it-all" attitude had become more competitive over time. She doesn't just want to answer questions; she wants to win the classroom.
That doesn't stop there because she has a bizarrely high pain tolerance, an aggressive stride, and an unexplainable urge to hoard heavy objects (like heavy books or brass scales) that could easily double as blunt-force weapons. Her parents had tried to suppress her behavior by sending her to disciplinary camps, but it backfired when she was sent home due to her temper.
All of these behaviors alone would have left her socially isolated. Some peers even feared confronting her.
But that all changed when an elderly woman in green robes arrived with an acceptance letter. At first, she was skeptical of this until she was informed about accidental magic. She reluctantly agreed. It was her first step into the unknown world where it "snows nine months of the year, and hails the other three."
She spent a while at the Hogwarts Express with a boy named Neville in search of his toad, then she opened another compartment, revealing two boys inside.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said, her voice crisp and commanding, less like a concerned classmate and more like an officer taking charge of a situation.
"We’ve already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but Hermione wasn't listening; she was looking at Harry.
Hermione froze. Her demanding words died on her tongue. She stared at the skinny, messy-haired boy with the round glasses. A sudden, bizarre wave of familiarity crashed over her—not a memory, but a phantom sensation. Looking at him, she felt the phantom sting of a cold sea breeze, the smell of woodsmoke and sulfur, and a strange, deep-seated urge to either punch him in the arm or throw her arms around him. Her eyes darted instinctively to his messy hair, tracking a spot on the right side of his head where she felt, for some inexplicable reason, a small braid ought to be.
Harry was staring back, his lopsided smile faltering into a look of profound, dazed confusion. He rubbed the back of his neck, a highly specific, nervous habit that made Hermione's heart skip a beat.
"Do I... know you?" Hermione murmured, her usual sharp confidence faltering into genuine bewilderment. "You look—"
"Oh, right, I was just about to do this then!" Ron interrupted loudly, entirely oblivious to the heavy, sudden tension vibrating between the other two. He cleared his throat importantly, waving his chipped willow wand in a theatrical circle over the sleeping rat. "Watch this!"
The spellcast effectively shattered the strange spell holding Harry and Hermione in place. Hermione snapped her head toward Ron, her face instantly hardening back into a scowl as her analytical instincts took over. She looked at the bent piece of wood in the red-haired boy's hand, then at the lazy, fat rodent in his lap.
"Let's see it then," she said, her voice regaining its fierce, competitive edge as she stepped into the compartment and crossed her arms, waiting to see exactly what kind of 'magic' this boy thought he was playing at.
The Great Hall fell into a hushed silence as the Sorting Hat was placed onto the heads of the new first-years. When Hermione Granger sat on the stool, the Sorting Hat barely brushed against her bushy brown hair before it reacted.
Normally, a mind as sharp, analytical, and text-focused as Hermione's would warrant a long debate for Ravenclaw. But the Hat didn't just scan her current memories; it plunged straight into the core of her soul. It felt the absolute, unyielding iron of a warrior. It saw the spirit of a girl who would throw herself into the jaws of a dragon to protect her people, a commander who led from the front lines with a battle cry, and a fierce shield-maiden who valued honor, loyalty, and courage above all else.
There was no hesitation. The Hat didn't even need to whisper in her mind.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat bellowed to the room.
Hermione blinked, a strange sense of satisfaction settling deep in her chest. She marched over to the roaring Gryffindor table with an aggressive, proud stride that looked more like a soldier returning from a successful campaign than a nervous schoolgirl.
When Harry Potter’s name was called, a murmur rippled through the Hall. He walked up to the stool, nervously rubbing the back of his neck—a habit that felt entirely too natural to him. The moment the dark fabric slipped over his eyes, a dry, ancient voice echoed in his mind.
"Oh, my. Well, this is... highly irregular," the Hat muttered, sounding genuinely startled. "What an extraordinary mind. The boy-who-lived? No, no... There is a builder here. An inventor. A thinker."
Harry blinked in the darkness. "What?"
"The curiosity! The obsessive need to map, to calculate, to take apart the world and reconstruct it with gears and drafts," the Hat murmured, deeply fascinated. "You look at magic, and your first instinct is to ask about aerodynamic lift and structural integrity. You belong where wit, learning, and intellect are cherished. You are a natural fit for Ravenclaw."
Harry’s heart hammered. A strange, phantom image of a blue sky and a roaring black beast flashed in his mind. He didn't know why, but the idea of being separated from the bushy-haired girl who had stared at him on the train felt completely wrong. They belonged together. They were a team. He could feel it in his very bones.
"Please," Harry thought fiercely. "Not Ravenclaw. Gryffindor. Put me where she went."
"Gryffindor?" The Hat questioned, probing deeper. "You possess the nerve, yes—a quiet, stubborn brand of courage. You've stood up to monsters and faced certain death with nothing but a lopsided smile and a sarcastic comment. The bravery of a leader, a chief... Yes, I see it now. Forged in fire."
The Hat chuckled softly in his ear, conceding to the fierce, stubborn willpower of the soul beneath it.
"Better be... GRYFFINDOR!"
The crimson-and-gold table erupted into cheers. "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Harry slid off the stool, letting out a long, exhausted breath. He made his way down the steps and caught Hermione’s eye. She was clapping fiercely, a knowing, triumphant smile on her face. As Harry sat down right next to her, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
The Chief and his General were exactly where they needed to be.