The day faded into a grey-blue dusk as the train sped further north. Clouds gathered in thick layers, and the temperature dropped, casting the windowpanes in a faint chill.
Dora had fallen asleep with her face pressed against the glass, Ember's cage beside her, fogging it with soft hoots every now and then.
Rigel remained awake.
His pale fingers tapped the edge of his wand slowly, not restlessly—but with rhythm.The time flowed by as Dora finally stirred awake.
Dora stirred. "Are we there?"
"Almost," Rigel said, standing. "Get your cloak. It's cold."
They stepped into the corridor where voices rang with excitement and nervous chatter. Shoes squeaked.
Owls hooted. A pair of boys were wrestling over a chocolate frog near the front. Steam hissed against the windows.
By the time they stepped down onto the platform, the light was nearly gone. A thick mist clung to the ground, swirling around their boots.
Then came the call:
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"
A giant of a man loomed through the fog, lantern held high. Wild black hair and a shaggy beard framed a kind face. "C'mon now, all o' yeh—follow me!"
They followed the half-giant down a winding path lit only by flickering lanterns. Dora kept close to Rigel, unusually quiet. Even she, full of words and wildness, was struck silent by what lay ahead.
Then, around a bend, the trees opened—
And the lake spread out before them. Still and black like glass, stretching wide under the silver gleam of the moon.
And beyond it…
Hogwarts.
The castle loomed out of the darkness, its many turrets and towers glowing gold. Windows lit up the cliffs like stars pinned to stone.
Reflections danced in the water below it, broken only by the soft ripple of boats waiting silently at the shore.
Dora gasped.
Even Rigel paused.
He'd seen it in books. Painted in old tapestries. Described in letters written by long-dead relatives. But nothing compared to the real thing. The castle was alive. Breathing. Watching. Waiting.
They were ushered into the small boats—four to each.
Rigel and Dora shared one with two silent first-years who kept to themselves. No words were spoken as they crossed the lake. Just the gentle slosh of water and the occasional call of a night bird.
As they neared the far shore, Rigel felt it again—that low pulse in his wand arm. It wasn't fear. It wasn't even excitement.It was a thrum of magic.
The castle saw him.
The boats drifted beneath a curtain of ivy into a low, torch-lit tunnel, and soon they emerged onto a landing where stone steps climbed up to the castle proper.
Drenched in mist, surrounded by awe-struck silence, the first-years climbed.
At the top of the steps, massive oak doors waited. Rigel could see runes carved faintly into the iron hinges—wards older than any wand in Ollivander's shop.
Dora's hand brushed his sleeve. "Ready?"
He didn't smile. But he gave a quiet nod.
The double doors of the Great Hall creaked open with a grandeur that seemed to silence even the most jittery first-years.
The vast chamber lay ahead, lit by hundreds of floating candles and crowned with a sky enchanted to reflect the outside heavens—tonight, a sea of stars glittered above a sliver of moon.
The four house tables were filled with curious faces. Some students leaned across benches to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals.
Professors sat in a row at the high table, with Albus Dumbledore himself seated in the center, bright-eyed and unreadable.
But it wasn't the ceiling or the tables that drew attention.
It was the Sorting Hat—a battered, ancient thing perched on a small stool near the front of the hall.
The hall fell silent as the seams on the hat burst open.
> 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 cap 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 ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
> Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks 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!
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Author's notes.
Please give me power stones.