Edit 9/1/2018: Hello guys! This is an edited beginning, and so I hope you all enjoy! I'm currently editing and re-working the rest of the story, and after that edit is done I'll try to get my muse going to continue from there!

Lots of love!

A very important note: I'm only gonna say this once, so listen up: THIS IS AN ALTERNATE HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE. That means that while there are characters you know (ex: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, etc) things are NOT the same as in the books. Voldemort never rose to power, Harry Potter was never the Boy Who Lived. This is just an alternate universe where some HP characters exist and some you'll never hear from.

This is not a Harry Potter story. I'm focusing on the Big Four, this is THEIR story. So if you're gonna rant about something, make it about THEM, not if I got Dumbledore's character exactly right or if I miscounted the number of paintings in the Gryffindor common room.

*The Sorting Hat Song is from the 1st Harry Potter book, so no, I did not write it and I take no credit for it. =)

Oh, another important thing...Dumbledore isn't evil. Not in the SLIGHTEST. So when the plot/main conflict starts rolling and Dumbledore is his usual weird self, know in advance that Dumbledore is in NO WAY involved. He's a good guy, he's awesome, and the reason I'm saying this is because in a lot of HP fics I read, they make Dumbledore out to be this manipulative power-hungry wizard, which I think is just a shame because Dumbledore is such a cool guy. Flawed and a bit too vague at times, but overall GOOD.

Okay, rant over.

I hope you guys enjoy, and if you like it and/or want to see more soon...

PLEASE REVIEW!

Rise of Four

A Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons fanfic, Hogwarts AU

by Sapphire-Raindrop

Prologue: The Sorting Hat

If asked to describe the Sorting Hat in a single sentence, Albus Dumbledore would use the word 'illuminating' and nothing else. Technically it was not a sentence but the old wizard had found that the most intriguing aspects of magic simply couldn't be described. He was a master of nearly every form of magic—he had read countless volumes dedicated to explaining and embellishing magic—and yet the mysteries of the Sorting Hat left him without words.

The Start-of-Term Feast would be starting soon but for a few precious minutes Albus simply examined the hat. Just before he had to leave to join the rest of the staff, he would do what he did every year: he would put on the hat and hear what it had to say.

Albus stared down at its dusty form, so dull against the gleaming surface of his desk. Fawkes trilled from his perch and the wizard looked up at the phoenix, reaching up to lightly trace the feathers atop his reddish gold head.

"All in good time, my dear friend. All in good time," he murmured.

Fawkes crooned, nipping his fingers so gently that Albus barely felt it. The silver-haired wizard stole a glance at the delicate pocket-watch hanging from Fawkes' perch and estimated that he had at least five more minutes before he was expected in the Great Hall.

Five minutes was plenty of time.

Albus reached out with graceful fingers, and plucked the hat from its spot. It lay limp in his hands, as it always did, and he chuckled before slowly pulling the rim down over his eyes.

The outside world was muted, unnatural darkness reigned, and even though the bottom of the hat was open around his face no light entered the hat. It was a harmless enchantment to ensure that the wearer was less prone to distraction, though it must be quite unnerving to unsuspecting first-years.

Not even five seconds had passed before the Hat's nasally tone filled his ears.

Right on schedule, Dumbledore. Will you ever tire of trying to sort me out?

The Hat chuckled at its own choice of words. Dumbledore smiled pensively, choosing not to reply. The Hat seemed to sigh, then, and its tone was much less mocking when it continued.

Perhaps I should rephrase my question: will you ever stop trying to sort yourself out?

"The human mind can always benefit from introspection," Albus replied.

True, the Hat conceded, But there is also a time to set aside the grading quill. I can see all that you hide from the world, Dumbledore, and as always there is nothing I can tell you that you don't already know. You are not in risk of walking that path again. Isn't that enough?

"Am I safe in assuming that you are ready for the newest batch of students?" the old wizard asked, ignoring the Hat's question and asking the same question he asked every year. Part of him knew that he should heed the Hat's advice but how could he ever be truly sure that he wouldn't make the same mistakes?

Albus had almost destroyed the wizarding world by allowing Gellert Grindlewald to rise to power, had almost aided in the destruction of the Muggle world because he was too blinded by love to see the truth. Luckily, he had come to his senses in time, but ever since then he had been on constant guard against himself.

After Gellart was defeated, an era of tranquility had settled over the wizarding world, a time of peace and plenty. But as long as he could remember his past Albus would have no peace. Perhaps that was his curse, an added punishment for all of his wrongdoings.

I am, Dumbledore, the Hat replied after a long, tense silence.

And so Albus, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, removed the hat from his head. He replaced it with a bright purple hat of his own, patterned with glittering stars and crescent moons. Slipping on his equally purple robes, the man strode from the room, the Sorting Hat held reverently in his grasp along with his wand.

Half an hour later Dumbledore found himself in his usual seat at the staff table, chatting merrily with Pomona Sprout. The Great Hall was looking magnificent as usual, the ceiling lit up with a clear night sky that twinkled with stars. Candles floated above each of the House tables, reflecting against the porcelain plates set before each seat. The students talked amongst themselves while they waited for the incoming first-years to arrive and their voices were a balm to Albus' somber mood.

The children were a reminder. A beautiful, wonderful reminder of the good Albus was capable of. Whenever the Headmaster gazed out at the hundreds of witches and wizards, he felt the weight in him ease slightly. For all of Albus' fame and renown, the students that sat before him now would be the ones who shaped the future.

Albus had done his part to try and control the fate of the wizarding world and that had resulted in the loss of everything he held dear. Sweet, innocent Ariana, his mother, his brother Aberforth, his beloved Gellert…they were all cruel marks on his spirit that would never fade or heal. All he could do was try to make up for his mistakes, to give the future generations the tools they needed to succeed along with the proper guidance, so that none would follow in their Headmaster's footsteps.

The Great Hall's doors opened with a deafening groan and the entire congregation fell silent. Apparently, the sight of frightened first-years was much more interesting than idle conversation. Pomona gave Albus a knowing wink and settled into her seat, her expression warm as she beheld the young ones following Minerva McGonagall across the hall. Albus studied the first-years, placing his fingers together in an arch.

One of the children immediately caught his eye, the reason being his hair. It was unusually messy and spiky, to be sure, but that wasn't the reason whispers followed him. The boy's hair was pure white, almost silver in the candlelight.

The boy was one of the only first years who wasn't nervously looking around. Instead, the child seemed almost bored, his ice-blue eyes scanning the staff table lazily. The Headmaster leaned forward so his lips touched his fingers.

Ah, he remembered who the boy was, even though it pained him to do so. Every year the Headmaster was given a full background report of every incoming first-year, and Albus had gone over this boy's report in great detail.

His name was Jackson Overland.

Based on appearances alone, no one would ever guess the tragedy that had befallen the boy. Albus would wager to say that none of his fellow students were aware of the incident, though whether that was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

Jackson had been but seven years old when his family home caught on fire. His parents and younger sister were Muggles and so Jackson's magical abilities had been difficult to discern up until that point. Usually, muggleborns showed magical ability from the time they walked, but Jackson was an exception. Perhaps that was the reason the Muggleborn Recognition Squad had written him off as a Muggle despite his very faint magical signature.

According to the Muggle authorities the fire started in the dead of night, when the whole house was asleep. Unfortunately, the central beam of the two-story house fell first, preventing Jackson from reaching his sister and parents. The fire raged on unchecked and by the time the fire department arrived most of the house was in shambles. The only survivor was a small boy, shaking and trembling, his brown hair bleached a snowy white and his hazel eyes changed to blue.

The stress and trauma of the experience resulted in Jackson's magic overloading his system and making itself very prominently known. Once the Muggle firemen, policemen and neighbors had been made to forget Jackson's original coloring, Healers had thoroughly examined the boy. Even after countless tests they couldn't find any negative side effects that resulted from the physical change, and so the boy was taken to his nearest Muggle relatives, who were made aware of Jackson's magic as well as how to properly introduce him to the magical world.

From what Albus had read, his older cousin Tatiana and her husband Greg had been nothing but kind and supportive. They raised Jackson as their own and were surprisingly accepting of the presence of magic and the like. However, reports showed that Jackson grew up to be a rebellious and lonely child, using bravado and trickery as a buffer.

Albus heart ached for the child. He hoped that the boy would find friends at Hogwarts. Perhaps he should invite him for tea…no, that would most likely send the boy running for cover. Albus sighed, reluctantly resigning himself to the fact that he would have to wait for Jackson to come to him. That is, if the boy ever came to him at all.

The Headmaster pulled his attention away from Jackson because Minerva was prompting him to speak. Albus stood quietly, smiling for a moment at the student body before speaking.

"Good evening all! Before we begin, I would like to make a few announcements. To all first-years: the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits unless accompanied by a professor or the groundskeeper. Also, our dear castle's caretaker, Mr. Filch—" Albus gestured to where Filch stood hunched over his cane, Mrs. Norris curled up around his knobby ankles. "—has asked me to remind all of you that Dung-bombs are now banned from the castle grounds. There are many other banned items, the entirety of which are listed outside of Mr. Filch's office. There are three hundred and twenty-five items on the list, and as such I would recommend memorizing them as soon as possible. I suggest doing so in alphabetical order, but I encourage creative measures—arranging the variety of items into sonnet form, or perhaps a twelve-part opera."

A ripple of laughter swept through the hall, and once it had died down Albus seated himself with a flourish. The corners of Minerva's mouth twitched as she turned to face the group of first-years.

"Now, on to the Sorting."

The Hat was twitching in preparation to sing. The seam along the lower half of the cap split, causing a few first-years to gasp in surprise. Some of the upperclassmen snickered but a severe look from Minerva quickly put an end to that.

The Hat's mouth opened wide in order to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can top them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a steady mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Albus applauded along with the rest, pleasantly surprised as always by the jaunty nature of the Hat's songs. Every year the song was different, though no less entertaining than the one sung the year before. The first-years stared at the hat, some of them whispering amongst themselves but the majority steeling themselves for what was to come.

Minerva waited for the applause to subside and then cleared her throat, bespectacled eyes flashing.

"I will call each of you by name, and when I do, you will sit on this stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head. The Hat will then declare which House you belong to. Are they any questions before we begin?"

The first-years shook their heads and Albus' chest swelled at the eager smiles appearing. It was so uplifting to see such youthful faces, such pure expressions of hope and wonder. It almost made the older wizard wish he could go back and relive his own Sorting.

Minerva unrolled the scroll a bit and gave the entire hall once last sweeping glance before turning her attention to the list of first-years. The Sorting began without a hitch, and Albus smiled and clapped along with the rest of them every time a student was sorted.

And then—

"Merida DunBroch!" Minerva called.

A girl stepped out of the crowd and marched toward the stool. Even if her hair had not been a fiery red mane of curls, her swaggering walk and her thick Scottish brogue as she thanked Minvera would have identified her just as easily. DunBroch was a very prominent and influential pureblood family, and Merida was the first-born daughter of Lord Fergus himself.

Merida fearlessly hopped up onto the stool, her nose scrunched up in impatience as she waited for Minerva to place the Hat on her head. The moment her face disappeared under the rim, her hands relaxed and her foot ceased tapping against the side of the stool.

A split second later, the Sorting Hat proclaimed her to be a Gryffindor. Well, that certainly wasn't a surprise. Her father, Lord DunBroch—Albus had known him as Fergus, a boisterous lad with flaming red hair—had also been in Gryffindor, as had every DunBroch before him. Merida's mother, Elinor Garthorn, had been a Ravenclaw if Albus' memory served him correctly.

Merida hopped off the stool and practically ran to the cheering Gryffindor table. The cheering quieted, and the Sorting went on.

"Henry Haddock!" was another name that made Albus pay a bit more attention than usual.

Another powerful pureblood family, he mused. The Haddocks had been around since the age where Vikings ruled and as such still retained much of their Viking heritage. It was the first time in Albus' memory that a Haddock had attended Hogwarts, and so with that he carefully scanned the first-years for the boy in question.

Only to be surprised, because Henry Haddock was a small, awkward child with bright green eyes and shaggy auburn hair. Nothing like the Viking-child Albus had been expecting.

The Haddocks were a proud, often blunt family, leaning toward violence rather than diplomacy. And yet this boy didn't appear to be capable of any sort of violence, if his thin arms and nervous expression were anything to go by.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat bellowed, and the Ravenclaw table applauded loudly for their newest member. Little Henry looked relieved to be out of the spotlight and hastened to sit down.

The Headmaster nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention to the Sorting once more. Very interesting indeed, for a Haddock to find his place in Ravenclaw. Albus made a note to keep an eye on young Henry, for he wished to know more about the boy who so unlike the Haddocks he had met in his lifetime.

Slowly but surely the size of the first-year huddle decreased until only a small group of students remained. Jackson was one of these students; he was staring up at the ceiling, not even attempting to pay attention to the Sorting.

"Rapunzel Lockwood!" Minerva called out.

The girl's first name was unusual enough to make note of, and as such Albus watched carefully as the girl hurried to the stool. Her most distinguishing feature was her beautiful golden-blonde hair. It was arranged in a large, intricate braid and yet it was still long enough to reach the small of her back. Several purple and yellow flower clips adorned the top and bottom of the braid.

As Rapunzel approached the stool she met Albus' eye. The sweet smile she gave him struck him to his core because it was almost identical to Ariana's smile. Albus smiled back, effortlessly hiding the sadness that weighed down on his heart.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat declared after just a few moments of deliberation.

Rapunzel beamed. Her heavy braid swung behind her as she skipped to her table. She was smiling and greeting her housemates before she even sat down, her voice lost in the sounds of clapping and cheering. Albus watched her interact with her peers for a moment more and then forced himself to look away. The benign smile was still on his face, hiding his true thoughts from any who might be watching him.

Minerva unrolled the last bit of the large scroll, and continued reading off the names. Albus watched Jackson carefully, and when the boy's name was called he leaned forward slightly.

Jackson stepped up the stool. His lips pulled up into a smirk as he sat down, a smirk bereft of humor and seeming more resigned than anything. The Hat fell over his eyes and Jack's fingers tightened around the edge of the stool until his knuckles turned white.

The Hat was silent for almost ten minutes. Jack's elbows were shaking from the force of his grip. To the knowing eye, it was clear that Jackson and the Hat were having a very adamant debate.

"SLYTHERIN!" was the Sorting Hat's final verdict. It was only because Albus was watching the boy's reaction that he saw the slight, disappointed slumping of thin shoulders. Jackson stood stiffly from the stool and walked over to the Slytherin table, accepting the handshakes and excited cheers of his House with a forced grin that was so practiced that it was almost genuine.

Almost.

Albus watched Jackson sit down and let out a soft sigh that was made inaudible by the applause. He had hoped that the boy would be placed in Gryffindor but that desire showed just how little he knew concerning such things. Albus was one wizard and the Sorting Hat had been around for over a thousand years. To question the Hat would be comparable to questioning the Founders themselves.

Finally, the Sorting came to an end. Albus stood, staring out at the students with a smile on his face.

Albus was not an inattentive Headmaster—he cared deeply for all of his students—but he would be lying if he denied the fact that out of all the first-years, four students in particular had caught his attention. As the old wizard scanned the House tables left to right, the faces of Jackson Overland, Rapunzel Lockwood, Merida DunBroch and Henry Haddock stood out among all the rest.

"Instead of prolonging your hunger, I think it would be best to save the final announcements until the Feast has ended. So I will end this by saying two simple words: lemon drop."

And with that, the Headmaster seated himself, flicking his wand and alerting the House Elves working below in the kitchens. With a great surge of magic the food appeared on respective plates. Roased chicken, turkey and pork gleamed deliciously, and along the tables fruits and vegetables were piled high in bronze bowls. The goblets filled themselves with pumpkin juice and water—in Albus' cup was a delightful mixture of lemonade.

"To future generations," Albus toasted quietly amongst the staff. Each of the professors nodded in return and raised their glasses. The students were unaware of their toast, already digging into the food with gusto.

Albus sipped at his drink. The lemonade was perfectly made; sharp and sour with just the slightest hint of sugar. The Headmaster breathed in a deep gulp of air, content to simply bask in the sounds of so many young wizards and witches under one roof, united by the search for knowledge.

After a long summer of emptiness and silence, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was alive once more.