Sorting Things Out
Summary
You step off the Hogwarts Express beside two Hufflepuffs who worry too much. When the Sorting Hat calls your name, you hope to find where you truly belong as your new life at Hogwarts begins.
Rating: General Audiences
AO3 | Read Below
Notes: No pairing in this one. Just the beginning of my Curatus series that will focus on your first few years at Hogwarts and your wholesome interactions with the guys. TAGS: Caleb & Reader, Hogwarts AU, Slytherin Reader, Protective Caleb, Wholesome, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts House Sorting Ceremony, Hufflepuff Caleb, Hufflepuff Gideon, Slytherin Tara, Gryffindor Xavier, Fluff. | Words:1,839 Hope you enjoy!
The third-year compartment was cramped, stuffy, and definitely not meant for three people plus three cats in travel crates, but none of that really mattered. You were curled up on the bench with your head in Caleb’s lap, his scarf half-draped over your shoulder and your hands tucked beneath your head.
The train rumbled beneath you; the windows fogged slightly with mist. Caleb’s fingers were in your hair again, smoothing it like he used to when you were six and recovering in the infirmary wing of Josephine’s creaky old house. He kept checking your scarf even though it wasn’t even cold.
“Did you drink the calming draught Josephine packed?” he asked, for the third time.
You grunted.
He reached down and poked your cheek. “That’s not a yes.”
Across from you, Gideon was peeling open a chocolate frog, frowning down at a medical book spread open in his lap. Its pages were filled with diagrams you didn’t understand, magical currents, sleep flare patterns, regulatory charm schematics.
“You have to be careful when it spikes,” Gideon said, not looking up. “If you feel weird, or dizzy, or if your magic gets that static-crackling thing, find one of us. Don’t wait. Just-” he glanced up at you, face serious in that quiet way he had, “don’t try to push through it alone.”
You groaned and pressed your face into Caleb’s jumper. “You two are fussier than gran.”
“We’re allowed to be,” Caleb said, though his voice was warm. “You’re our favorite baby witch.”
“I’m not a baby witch,” you grumbled.
“Fine. You’re a nap-prone magical gremlin with too much power in your bones and a tendency to fall asleep in public stairwells.”
“I haven’t even fallen asleep in a stairwell yet.”
“Yet,” Gideon said.
You pouted and kicked half-heartedly toward his shin.
“The only thing I’m worried about is which house I’m going to end up in,” you muttered. “What if I don’t end up in Hufflepuff with you two?”
Caleb leaned down so his forehead bumped lightly against yours.
“Whichever house it is,” he said, “you’ll still be my favorite Slytherin-Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw-Gryffindor.”
“If it’s Gryffindor,” Gideon said with mock seriousness, “we’ll sneak you snacks from the kitchens. If it’s Ravenclaw, we’ll exchange notes. If it’s Slytherin, well…”
“We’ll write you a sympathy card, sneak you those snacks, and share our notes,” Caleb finished, laughing lightly.
You made a dramatic sound of betrayal and curled tighter into your seat, burying your face in his jumper. They both laughed like they hadn’t been quietly panicking only ten minutes earlier.
Caleb shifted beneath you, gently easing your head off his lap before crouching down in front of you. His expression had softened, but his eyes were serious again. That older-brother look that meant he was trying not to let you see how scared he still was, sometimes.
“Promise me,” he said, voice low so only you could hear. “If it starts to spiral, if the magic flares too hard, or you feel it bubbling, tell someone. Tell me. Tell Madame Beaumont. Tell anyone.”
You looked at him, really looked. His eyes were the same color as Josephine’s favorite tea. Steady. Steeped in worry. You gave a tiny nod.
“I promise,” you said. A little more quietly than usual.
He smiled and pressed two fingers gently to your forehead, a habit he never quite dropped.
“Okay then, pip,” he murmured. “Let’s get you to Hogwarts.”
The rest of the train ride to Hogwarts quieted down as the sun dipped lower, slipping behind the hills. The three cats, nestled in their carriers, purred softly, a gentle soundtrack to the evening. Outside, the world faded from gold to deepening blues, the stars starting to wink awake.
When the train finally slowed to a halt, you shuffled forward with the crowd, your feet barely touching the floor. Caleb gave your shoulder one last squeeze, firm, steady, like an anchor, before he and Gideon slipped away toward the carriages waiting at the station.
You blinked, suddenly alone in the bustle. Kids shouted and laughed, their robes rumpled, some tripping over each other as they hurried. The crisp night air smelled of lake water and pine.
You bumped into someone.
Her bobbed hair was a mess from the wind, strands sticking out like she’d just wrestled a pixie. She turned and flashed you a wide, gap-toothed grin.
“Hi! I’m Tara. I nearly walked into the lake.”
Before you could answer, a boy behind her let out a yawn so big his eyes watered. Pale hair, his cloak half-rumpled, blinking at the world with wide, owl-like blue eyes.
“That’s Xavier,” Tara said, nudging him gently. “He’s been tired since the train left the station. I think it’s his default state.”
“M’not tired,” Xavier mumbled, then yawned again, completely contradicting himself.
You told her your name, and Tara repeated it like she was testing a new spell. Then she grinned wider.
“Come on. Let’s find a boat before he walks into the lake too.”
The three of you piled into a wooden boat, Tara bouncing with excitement as she settled in, Xavier blinking slowly at the sky, and you pulling your cloak tighter against the evening breeze.
The boats drifted forward, gliding across the water. Around the bend, the castle rose before you, turrets reaching for the stars, windows glowing like scattered golden fireflies, and the whole place humming with magic.
Somewhere near you, a soft gasp broke the quiet. You weren’t sure if it was Tara, Xavier, or you.
Soon, the boat bumped softly against the shore, the wooden keel scraping the pebbled bank. You stepped out, the cold night air biting at your cheeks, but it didn’t matter. Ahead, the great doors of Hogwarts yawned wide, framed by flickering torches that cast long shadows on the stone.
The chatter around you grew louder, first years buzzing with excitement, nerves, and wide-eyed wonder. Everyone was whispering and pointing.
The castle smelled of old stone, woodsmoke, and something faintly sweet, like peppermint and parchment.
You followed the crowd up the grand steps, the echo of footsteps bouncing off the walls. The torchlight shimmered on suits of armor standing at attention, some whispering jokes to each other in metal voices.
Tara kept up a steady stream of chatter, her words bouncing like the ripples on the lake. Xavier shuffled along beside her, rubbing his eyes and blinking like he was still half-asleep but trying to keep up.
Everywhere you looked, there were magical details to take in, floating candles drifting lazily overhead, banners fluttering though no breeze stirred, and the distant hum of magic woven into the walls.
Your heart thudded in your chest, a blend of nerves and excitement.
This was it.
Hogwarts.
You glanced back at Tara and Xavier, their faces glowing with the same mix of awe and anticipation. Then, with a deep breath, you stepped forward, ready to find your place.
The doors to the Great Hall creaked open, and the light hit you like a spell, soft gold spilling across long tables, flickering candles floating above your head, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling enchanted to reflect the darkening sky. It was like stepping into a storybook.
Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs. So many people. Hundreds. The weight of their gazes, curious and flicking past, settled like a velvet cloak around your shoulders.
Your footsteps echoed. You walked with the rest of the first years toward the front, past row after row of older students, past teachers with warm or unreadable expressions. You clutched the edges of your robe and tried not to look too small.
At the front of the hall, a tall witch with sleek, brown hair and sharp eyes stepped forward, unrolling a long parchment. You remembered her from the many times she visited your gran. Professor Jenna. Calm voice, crisp robes, a kind smile that didn’t quite mask the authority underneath.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said, voice carrying across the hall, and the room shushed. “We will commence the sorting ceremony. When I call your name, please come forward and sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat will do the rest.”
The Sorting Hat sat crookedly on a wooden stool, already yawning as though bored with the coming parade of children and minds.
One by one, names were called.
Tara was sorted first. She practically danced her way to the front and sat down like she’d been waiting her whole life. The hat barely touched her head before shouting, “Slytherin!” She bounced off to her new table, waving dramatically at you as she went
Xavier went after. He yawned so deeply on the way up that someone snickered in the audience. He sat, head tilted slightly, blinking up at the floating candles. After a long pause, the hat finally declared, “Gryffindor!” and he shuffled off in the right direction.
And then. “Next,” said Professor Jenna. She scanned the list before her gaze found yours. Your name rang out across the Great Hall, and everything else dropped away.
You walked slowly, legs stiff, heart drumming so hard you swore everyone could hear it. You perched on the stool, gripping the edge like it might lift off and fly away. The Sorting Hat was placed on your head, and…
Darkness.
A deep breath, not your own, exhaled in your ears.
“My, my…” came the Sorting Hat’s voice, low and old and not unkind. “A tangled little knot of history you are.”
“Strong magic. Wild. Wounded. And clever… oh yes, very clever.”
It paused, and you felt it sorting through everything, every memory, every sleepless night, every flare of power, every scar carved too early.
“But what do you want, child?” it asked.
You were quiet a long moment. Then, softly:
“To be okay,” you thought. “To grow. To prosper. To be great.”
Another breath. Then, decisively:
“Slytherin, then,” the hat murmured. “Ambition sharpened by survival. You’ll make a fine storm there.”
And then, out loud.
“SLYTHERIN!”
You slid off the stool, blinking under the candlelight. The green and silver table to your right clapped, some with more enthusiasm than others.
But your eyes sought something else.
Across the hall, Caleb was already standing at the Hufflepuff table, clapping the loudest, a wide grin splitting his face. You could practically feel the pride radiating off of him like heat.
Next to him, Gideon gave you a little thumbs-up, understated and solid.
Tara, already seated at the Slytherin table, caught your eye and beamed, drumming her hands on the table in excitement. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like“Roommates!” before nearly knocking over her goblet in the process.
Across the hall, Xavier was perched at the Gryffindor table, a bit wide-eyed now as the students around him whooped and clapped for the next first year. He sat straighter than before, blinking fast, clearly trying to keep up with the noise and energy without getting swept away by it.
You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your mouth as you sat beside your new house.
