The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as Alaric Black stood among the first years, awaiting his sorting. The enchanted ceiling reflected a clear night sky, with stars twinkling in a calm expanse above, while the four long house tables were filled with students from all years, observing the new arrivals. The air was thick with anticipation, but Alaric's thoughts were elsewhere—focused, guarded, and deliberate.
He had read about Hogwarts for years, mostly from the extensive library of his family, the Blacks, and from secretive sources concerning his bloodline ties to Solomon House. Now that he stood in its Great Hall, it felt surreal, but also a step forward in unraveling the mysteries that surrounded him.
The Sorting Hat, old and wise beyond even the castle itself, sat waiting on a wooden stool at the center of the hall. The process began as names were called one by one, and the hat gave its judgments. Alaric knew that this moment would draw attention—not just from the students, but from the professors and perhaps even from Dumbledore himself.
Finally, Professor McGonagall called, "Alaric Black."
Whispers rippled through the hall at the sound of his surname. The name "Black" carried a weight in the wizarding world—both revered and feared, tied to a long, complicated legacy. Alaric walked forward, his expression unreadable as he sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and the whispering voice of the ancient artifact entered his mind.
"Ah, what do we have here? Another Black... yet not entirely," the Sorting Hat mused in a voice only Alaric could hear. "I sense an older power within you, a legacy that goes beyond the Black family. Solomon's blood runs deep, a guardian of ancient magic and knowledge. Yes, I see it now. But where to put you?"
Alaric remained silent, his thoughts carefully concealed. He knew his bloodline carried with it responsibilities and secrets—both as a Black and an heir to Solomon House. His mind was set on one thing: the pursuit of knowledge, unraveling the mysteries that had eluded even the most powerful wizards.
"Ambition, yes," the hat continued, "but ambition tempered with intellect. You seek power, but not for its own sake. You seek truth. The legacy of Solomon calls for wisdom, for knowledge long buried. Hmm… Ravenclaw fits you well. Or perhaps Slytherin?"
Alaric's mind whispered back, "Ravenclaw. Wisdom over ambition. Understanding before power."
The hat paused before speaking again. "Indeed. You have chosen wisely."
And then, aloud for all to hear, the Sorting Hat declared: "Ravenclaw!"
The Ravenclaw table erupted in applause, welcoming Alaric with a mix of curiosity and excitement. As he made his way to the table, he noticed the subtle glances cast in his direction—not just from his fellow students, but from the staff table. Dumbledore's eyes lingered on him, a quiet curiosity behind the warm twinkle of his blue eyes. Alaric knew better than to trust the kindly façade. He had heard the stories, read about Dumbledore's philosophy of the "Greater Good," and knew that behind the charm lay a man who would do whatever necessary to control the larger picture.
Alaric kept his expression neutral as he sat among his new housemates, letting their chatter fade into the background. Ravenclaw was the perfect house for him, not only because of his intellectual pursuits but because of the ancient bloodline he carried—the knowledge of Solomon, a lineage older than Hogwarts itself.
As the sorting ceremony continued, Alaric's mind drifted to his earlier visit to Gringotts. The goblins had known that he was the heir to Solomon House even before the bloodline test had confirmed it. The memory of their deference unsettled him, for goblins were bound by strict magical protocols, and such knowledge should have been hidden until the test. The fact that they had recognized his heritage meant that the magic of Solomon House ran far deeper than even he had realized—ancient wards and oaths that transcended modern understanding.
Alaric knew that this was just the beginning. The true power of Solomon House remained hidden, locked away in vaults and libraries that even goblins dared not touch. Only he, as the true heir, could access the knowledge and treasures within. But the mysteries of his lineage were not his only concern.
As the feast began, Alaric quietly observed his surroundings. The Great Hall was filled with older students who were already immersed in their own conversations and laughter. He couldn't help but notice that Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and the other students he knew from the famous stories were not here. Of course, they wouldn't be—Alaric was three years older than them. His mind briefly wondered what the Hogwarts of their time would be like, but those thoughts quickly faded.
His subconscious had played tricks on him earlier, in Diagon Alley. For a fleeting moment, he had seen Potter and his friends in the crowd, but it had been a mere illusion. Alaric knew that his mind, filled with fragmented memories of his past life and the stories he had read, could sometimes distort his expectations. He had expected to see the "heroes" of the story, but they were not here. This was his own journey, a path separate from theirs.
The presence of Solomon House weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of his responsibility to uncover the knowledge and power it held. He couldn't allow distractions, even those conjured by his own subconscious, to deter him from his goals.
As the night wore on, Alaric couldn't help but reflect on the path ahead. Ravenclaw was only the beginning. The mysteries of Solomon House, the connections between the magical and Muggle worlds, and the secrets hidden within Hogwarts itself were waiting to be uncovered. Alaric's future was not tied to the same destiny as Harry Potter's—his was a different, perhaps darker, path, filled with ancient magic, untold power, and the ever-present eyes of those who sought to control it.
And in the shadows of that future, Dumbledore's suspicions would grow, for Alaric was not just another student. He was the heir to something far older and more powerful than even the headmaster could understand.