The Great Hall was filled with eager whispers and excited chatter as the first-year students were sorted into their respective houses. All eyes seemed to be on one boy—Harry Potter. The famous Boy Who Lived. The whispers of his arrival had echoed through the corridors long before he set foot in the castle, and now, the entire school watched with bated breath.
The Sorting Hat was placed on Harry’s head, and after what felt like a long deliberation, the decision was made: *“Gryffindor!”* Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, and Harry made his way to join his new housemates, greeted with pats on the back and beaming smiles.
Nearby, Ron Weasley, who had been sorted into Gryffindor as well, sat beside Harry, grinning from ear to ear. Hermione Granger, their newly found friend, had also been sorted into Gryffindor. The trio seemed to be forming a close bond already, and all around them, the students continued to talk about the young boy who had survived the Dark Lord’s curse.
While the first-year students found their places, the older students watched the ceremony with varying degrees of interest. Siddarth, now in his fourth year, sat at the Ravenclaw table with his friends, observing the spectacle. Kevin, Cedric, and Adrian were beside him, their faces filled with amusement as they listened to the endless discussions about Harry.
Cedric, sitting at the Hufflepuff table, leaned over toward Siddarth. “What do you think of the new kid? All anyone’s talking about is Harry Potter.”
Adrian Malfoy, the elder brother of the first-year Draco Malfoy, who had just been sorted into Slytherin, smirked from across the table. “It’s like he’s already the most famous person in the castle, and he’s barely said a word.”
Siddarth only nodded, lost in thought. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about Harry that unsettled him. It wasn’t jealousy, but a strange, unfamiliar connection. Every time he looked at Harry, he felt something deep inside him stir, like a memory trying to resurface, yet slipping through his fingers before he could grasp it.
As the Sorting Hat finished its ceremony and the feast began, Siddarth quietly excused himself, leaving his friends at the table. Kevin and Cedric exchanged curious glances but didn’t press him. They knew Siddarth well enough to know when he needed space.
Siddarth wandered through the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, his feet leading him to the peaceful expanse of the Hogwarts garden. The cool evening air greeted him, and he looked up at the stars, the weight of his thoughts heavy on his shoulders.
He sat down on a stone bench, resting his head against the back of it, gazing up at the night sky. The wind rustled the leaves, and in the stillness of the garden, he felt a strange sense of unease. Why did Harry Potter make him feel so... unsettled?
Lost in thought, Siddarth didn’t notice the sound of footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until Professor McGonagall, with her sharp eyes and kind demeanor, stood before him that he broke out of his reverie.
“Mr. Siddarth,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. “What brings you out here at this hour?”
Siddarth looked up at her and gave a weak smile. He had always had a deep respect for McGonagall. She wasn’t just his teacher; she had become like a grandmother to him over the years, someone he could confide in without judgment.
“I don’t know,” Siddarth admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Something’s been bothering me.”
McGonagall’s expression softened, and she took a seat beside him on the bench, waiting patiently. She knew when one of her students needed to talk, and she always gave them the space to do so.
“I feel... strange, Professor,” Siddarth continued, staring out into the distance. “Every time I see Harry Potter, I get this feeling—like we’re connected somehow. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I know him, even though we’ve never spoken. And the way everyone treats him... it’s overwhelming. Why is he so important?”
McGonagall listened carefully, her eyes filled with understanding. “Siddarth,” she began slowly, “I know it can be difficult to understand, especially with all the attention surrounding Harry. He is the Boy Who Lived, after all. His story is extraordinary, and for many people, he represents hope. But you must remember that fame and expectation can be burdensome. People place their hopes and dreams on him, but that doesn’t mean Harry is any different from you or your friends.”
Siddarth frowned, still unconvinced. “But why do I feel this connection to him? Why does he seem... familiar to me?”
McGonagall sighed, knowing that Siddarth’s intuition was stronger than most. “It could be many things, Siddarth. Perhaps you’re simply competitive. You’ve always been an exceptional student—one of the best I’ve ever had. You’re powerful, talented, and incredibly kind. But that competitive spirit might make you feel as though you need to measure yourself against Harry. It’s natural.”
Siddarth shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like competition, Professor. It’s something deeper. Something I can’t explain.”
McGonagall looked at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps in time, you’ll find the answers you’re looking for. But let me tell you this, Siddarth: you don’t need to compare yourself to anyone. You are remarkable in your own right. Harry’s story may capture the attention of the world, but that doesn’t diminish your accomplishments. I’ve seen many students come and go over the years, but you, Siddarth—you are truly one of a kind.”
Her words were filled with warmth and sincerity, and Siddarth couldn’t help but feel comforted. The unease in his chest began to lift, and he looked at McGonagall with gratitude.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice steadying. “I needed to hear that.”
McGonagall smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve always been a thoughtful young man, Siddarth. Just don’t let these thoughts weigh too heavily on you. You have a bright future ahead, and I’m proud to have you as my student.”
Siddarth’s heart swelled with affection for his professor. Without thinking, he leaned in and hugged her tightly, feeling the steady reassurance of her presence. McGonagall stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then she smiled softly and returned the hug.
“Now,” she said, pulling back with a wink, “you should go and get some rest. It’s the start of a new year, after all.”
Siddarth nodded, his spirits lifted. As he walked back toward the castle, McGonagall watched him go, her heart filled with pride for the boy she had seen grow into a young man. She knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, Siddarth would face them with strength and grace.
For now, though, it was time to leave those worries behind.
