Chapter 5 – The Badger and the Hat
For a heartbeat, nobody in the Great Hall moved.
Hundreds of faces stared at Jasper and Professor Fig—students, staff, ghosts hanging in the upper air. The candles floating near the enchanted ceiling flickered as if surprised. The ceiling itself showed a cloudy night sky, the moon a faint smudge behind drifting cloud.
Jasper became very aware of how damp his robes were. And the grit on his face. And the fact that his boots still had cliff dust on them.
At the staff table, a witch with greying hair swept up into a practical bun stood slowly. Her expression was composed, but her eyes were sharp.
"Professor Fig," she said. "Mister Hemlock. I trust there is a very good explanation for your… dramatic arrival."
Her accent rang with the Highlands.
'Matilda Weasley,' Jasper thought. He recognised her from descriptions in Alder's notes, from the way the castle itself seemed to relax around her presence. Deputy headmistress. Keeper of schedules. Terror of unprepared students.
Fig bowed his head slightly.
"Deputy Headmistress Weasley," he said. "Our apologies for the interruption. There were unexpected complications on our way from London."
"Complications," drawled another voice.
A tall wizard rose from the centre of the staff table, draped in ornate robes that were just a little too elaborate to be tasteful. His hair fell in dark waves to his shoulders; his beard was trimmed with almost paranoid precision.
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black surveyed them down the length of his nose like they were dirt tracked in on the carpet.
"Such as?" he asked. "You're late to my feast, Eleazar. I dislike surprises."
Jasper felt the castle's hum shift around the man. Not welcoming. Not even neutral. More like… tolerance, edged with long habit.
Fig straightened.
"We were attacked, Headmaster," he said. "By a dragon. The Ministry's George Osric was killed."
A ripple ran through the hall—gasps, whispers, the rustle of robes. Someone at the Ravenclaw table dropped a fork.
Black's eyes narrowed.
"A dragon," he repeated, as if the word personally offended him. "In Ministry airspace?"
"And Gringotts'," Fig said. "I've no doubt we'll be untangling the political mess for weeks. For tonight, however, I thought it best to get my student to Hogwarts rather than stand in an office arguing about flight paths."
Weasley's mouth twitched very slightly, like she was repressing a smile.
Black, unfortunately, saw only opportunity.
"Yes, your… student," he said. His gaze shifted to Jasper for the first time, assessing and unimpressed. "The mysterious late-arriving fifth year the Ministry saw fit to foist upon us without proper documentation. I suppose this is him."
Jasper forced his shoulders not to hunch.
"Jasper Hemlock, Headmaster," he said. "Sorry to disturb your feast, sir."
Black sniffed.
"You've done more than disturb it," he said. "You've disrupted a carefully planned evening. Still, I suppose we must make… allowances. You're fortunate Professor Weasley insisted on your admission."
That surprised Jasper. He flicked a glance toward her. She didn't look away, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—relief, perhaps, that they'd arrived alive. And a certain hard satisfaction, as if she'd placed a bet on them and just won.
"We are all fortunate Mister Hemlock survived," she said briskly. "And that Professor Fig did as well. The rest we can address in the morning."
Her gaze swept the hall.
"For now," she went on, "there remains one small matter before we conclude the Sorting."
She nodded to the ancient stool at the front of the hall.
The Sorting Hat sat there, slightly rumpled, looking for all the world like an ordinary wizard's hat left in the wrong place. Its brim twitched.
Jasper's stomach dropped.
'Of course,' he thought. 'New time, new entrance. New Sorting.'
Professor Weasley gestured toward the front.
"If you would, Mister Hemlock," she said.
Jasper's boots felt twice as loud as he walked the length of the hall between the four house tables. He could feel hundreds of eyes tracking him, hear the whispers starting up as his name passed from mouth to mouth.
"Fifth year—"
"—came in with Fig—"
"—did he say dragon—"
He focused on the stone under his feet. It thrummed faintly, the ancient magic in the castle greeting him like a low chord. Not as loud as the vault. But present. Watching.
The Sorting Hat's brim wrinkled as he approached, as if smelling something interesting.
Up close, the stool looked older than any of them. There were dents in the wood where generations of nervous students had bounced their heels.
'Again,' Jasper thought, and that word carried more weight than anyone else in the hall could know.
He sat.
Professor Weasley picked up the Hat with practised hands and settled it onto his head.
It slid down over his ears, dimming the sounds of the hall to a muffled murmur.
For a moment, there was only darkness and the steady beat of his own heart.
Then a voice spoke inside his head.
'My, my, it said, sounding amused and a little startled. What a tangle you are.'
Jasper fought the urge to flinch.
'Hello,' he thought cautiously. 'Please don't say that out loud.'
The Hat chuckled, a fabric rustle at the edge of hearing.
'They can't hear me, it said. Not unless I want them to. But you, Mister Hemlock… you are hard to miss.'
It sifted through his thoughts with a feather-light touch, not prying exactly, but flicking through memories the way one might through pages in a book.
'A late arrival, it mused. On paper, at least. But the castle knows you. You walk like someone who knows where the trick stairs are and which portraits gossip the most.'
'Something like that,' Jasper thought. 'I'm… used to Hogwarts.'
'Oh, you're more than used to it, the Hat said. You're stitched into it in ways most students never are. And there are… other threads…'
Jasper felt it brush against the memory of the tear in the corridor. Of Alder's hand slipping from his. Of the vault and the chambers and the Keepers.
The Hat made a soft, thoughtful noise.
'Ancient magic, ' it said. 'So, the whispers were true. The world does keep interesting secrets for me.'
'It's not… mine,' Jasper thought. 'Not really.'
'Perhaps not,' the Hat allowed. 'But it knows you. And you know it, whether you wanted to or not.' It turned its attention more fully to him. 'You have courage. That much is obvious. Charging into stone guardians instead of hiding behind your professor certainly speaks to that.'
'I was avoiding being crushed,' Jasper thought. 'Self-preservation.'
'Self-preservation would have been running the other way and hoping your teacher lived,' the Hat said dryly. 'You stayed in the fight because leaving someone else to handle it alone felt wrong. That is not simply courage. That is loyalty.'
Warmth flickered in Jasper's chest.
'You have wit enough,' the Hat went on, 'and resourcefulness. You see patterns in fights and adapt quickly. There is a streak in you that would do well in Slytherin, too—the willingness to act when others hesitate. To do what is necessary.'
A memory rose unbidden: the first time he'd cast a curse meant to maim at a goblin instead of shield or disarm; the quiet, cold understanding that some of the people he fought would not stop until he made them.
He flinched.
'They were trying to kill us,' he thought quickly. 'They were criminals. Murderers.'
'You're not arguing with me,' the Hat pointed out. 'You're arguing with yourself. You've seen death, Jasper Hemlock. More than most your age. You do not seek it. But you have accepted that sometimes you must be the one to swing the wand instead of hoping someone else will.'
Silence hung for a moment.
The Hat sounded neither approving nor condemning. Just… observant.
'You want to protect,' it said finally. 'People. Creatures. Places. Even the fools who don't know they need protecting. You will dig in your heels and plant yourself between danger and those you've decided are yours.'
The hum of the castle deepened around him, as if listening in.
'That speaks,' the Hat said, 'very strongly, of one house in particular.'
Images flickered through his mind. The warm, earthy colours of the Hufflepuff common room. The steady, stubborn weight of the badger. Laughter late at night around low tables. A place to breathe. To mend.
'Hufflepuff,' he thought.
'You would suit Slytherin,' the Hat mused, clearly enjoying itself. 'Or Gryffindor, if we're being generous. But you know where your centre is. You don't crave glory. You want a place to stand while the rest of the world ties itself in knots.'
Jasper exhaled slowly.
'I want Hufflepuff,' he thought. 'Please.'
The Hat didn't hesitate.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" it bellowed.
The word rang through the hall, shockingly loud. The Hat's voice came from everywhere at once, and the muffled murmur of the hall surged back into full volume around it—cheers from the Hufflepuff table, scattered applause from elsewhere, a few surprised laughs.
Jasper yanked the Hat off and handed it back to Professor Weasley, who took it with a small, satisfied smile.
"Welcome to Hufflepuff, Mister Hemlock," she said quietly. "We'll speak later."
He nodded, throat dry, and climbed down from the stool.
As he made his way to the Hufflepuff table, he allowed himself a glance around.
To his left, the Gryffindors were clapping, some more enthusiastically than others. A girl with tightly coiled hair and a confident posture watched him with curious interest—Natsai Onai, if Alder's briefings were right. At the Slytherin table, a lanky boy with a mess of brown hair slouched in Slytherin green, smirking—Sebastian Sallow.
Near the far end of the Hufflepuff table, a blonde girl with a plait over one shoulder and a fond look for the owl on the rafters caught his eye. There was something in the way she sat, back straight but hands curled gently around a cup, that spoke of someone who thought about living things more than people.
'Poppy,' Jasper thought. 'Poppy Sweeting.'
She brightened when he sat across from her, as if she'd been hoping he'd end up there.
"Nice entrance," said the boy next to Jasper, grinning. He had freckles, a nose slightly too big for his face, and the sort of open expression that made it easy to like him. A prefect's badge gleamed on his chest.
"I don't recommend it," Jasper said, still trying to decide if his legs were going to keep cooperating. "The dragon really ruined the landing."
The boy laughed.
"Amir Oakes," he said, offering a hand. "Hufflepuff prefect. We don't usually tumble in through portals, but we'll make an exception for you."
Jasper shook his hand.
"Jasper," he said. "Thanks for… not booing me for being late."
"Hufflepuffs don't boo people for surviving dragons," Poppy put in, voice soft but firm. "That would be terribly rude."
Her tone suggested she meant it.
Jasper almost smiled.
"Poppy Sweeting," she added, as if she felt she should introduce herself properly. "I'm in your year. You missed the first half of the feast, but you've more than made up for it in drama."
The plates in front of them shimmered.
Food appeared—roast meats, potatoes, loaves of bread, bowls of vegetables, steaming pitchers of pumpkin juice. The smell hit Jasper like a wave.
He hadn't realised how hungry he was until that moment. His last proper meal had been… before Alder's experiment. Before the corridor. Before everything.
His stomach growled loudly enough that Amir snorted.
"Go on," Amir said. "You've clearly earned it."
Jasper didn't need telling twice.
He filled his plate, trying not to look as if he were piling on food for three people. The hum of magic settled into the background, twining itself around the ordinary noises of the feast—the clink of cutlery, the scrape of benches, the low buzz of conversation.
For a little while, he let himself just… be.
He listened as Amir and Poppy filled him in on the term so far. Classes hadn't started yet, but there were already rumours.
"Professor Sharp is supposed to be terrifying," Amir said, tearing bread with practised hands. "Potions. Ex-Auror. Missing a chunk of his leg. They say he can smell fear and incorrectly brewed Wiggenweld from fifty yards."
"He's thorough," Poppy corrected. "But fair. Professor Hecat, though, will have you throwing yourself around the Defence classroom until you fall over."
"She likes practical lessons," Amir agreed cheerfully. "You'll be in her class with the rest of us. We can show you where she keeps the practice dummies."
"And the hospital wing," Poppy added dryly.
Jasper swallowed a mouthful of potatoes.
'Hecat,' he thought. 'Hecat and Sharp and…'
His gaze tracked to the staff table.
Weasley sat near the centre, head bent in conversation with Fig. They spoke in low tones, expressions serious. Further along, a man in a monocle and severe expression must have been Professor Sharp; a witch with a stern bun and an almost military bearing would be Hecat.
Jasper let the names sink in. New faces. New positions on the chessboard.
He wondered, not for the first time, who was here instead of Alder. And where Alder was, in this version of the world.
"Jasper?" Poppy asked.
He blinked.
"Sorry," he said. "Long day. What did you say?"
"I asked if you like magical creatures," she repeated. "Amir said you came in with Professor Fig. He's always researching something exciting, so I thought you might have seen… things."
Her eyes shone with hope. It wasn't the glazed hunger of someone thinking about trophies or rare parts. It was simpler. Kinder.
Jasper thought of the thestrals pulling the carriage. Of the flash of dragon scales. Of crawling threads of power in beast-filled valleys in memories that hurt to look at.
'I'm going to build you a sanctuary,' he thought, not sure if he was promising her, the creatures, or himself. 'Not yet. But soon.'
"I've seen a bit," he said aloud. "Mostly in passing. I'm hoping to see more. Preferably from a safe distance, at least where dragons are concerned."
Poppy smiled, small but genuine.
"Safe distances are important," she said. "But speckled orange puffskeins are harmless, mostly. You should start there."
"Noted," Jasper said.
The feast blurred slightly after that.
There were desserts—treacle tart, sticky toffee pudding, apple crumble. The ghosts circled overhead. The Fat Friar drifted over to look Jasper up and down and beam at him, declaring, "Always room for another loyal soul!" before floating off to harass a first-year who had dropped an entire jug of juice.
At last, Headmaster Black rose, slicing through the noise with the scrape of his chair.
"Students," he said, spreading his hands as if he'd personally conjured every candle and roast chicken in the room. "Welcome—those of you who managed to arrive on time—to another year at Hogwarts."
A ripple of polite laughter went through the hall.
Jasper noticed that it was polite, not sincere.
Black's gaze swept the room.
"I expect the usual," he went on. "Diligence in your studies. Respect for the rules. Minimal explosions in the corridors. I have no patience for nonsense, and even less for fame-seeking theatrics."
His eyes lingered on Jasper for a pointed second before moving on.
"You will receive further instructions from your Heads of House," he finished. "In the meantime, get out of my Hall. I prefer it quiet."
Professor Weasley rose almost as soon as he sat down.
"Hufflepuffs," she called, her voice carrying easily. "If you would follow Prefect Oakes, he will lead you to your common room. Mister Hemlock—"
Jasper straightened.
"—I will speak with you briefly now," she said. "Professor Fig as well. The rest of you, don't wait up; I'm sure Mister Hemlock can find his own bed when we are finished."
Amir clapped Jasper on the shoulder.
"Don't worry," he said. "We're just off the kitchens. You can't miss the smell. I'll save you a bunk."
Poppy nodded.
"And I'll save you from any inquisitive badgers," she said. "They like new people."
"Good to know," Jasper said.
He watched the Hufflepuff table file out, following Amir's raised wand like a lantern. The hall slowly emptied, leaving Jasper feeling suddenly very small under the vast, star-flecked ceiling.
Professor Fig came to stand beside him.
Weasley stepped down from the dais, robes swishing, her expression tight but determined as she crossed the hall to meet them.
"Walk," she said quietly.
Jasper swallowed.
Whatever came next, it clearly wasn't going to be simple.
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