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Chapter Text

 — CHAPTER ONE — 

The Crypt in the Clearing

The inhabitants of a small village in the Highland council used to pride themselves on living in a very reliable and safe community. For them, trust meant that everyone knew at least one basic fact about each other's lives, and security meant being comfortably tucked into bed by ten o'clock. None of these qualities, however, seemed to suit the village's current situation.

In recent days, a frightening phenomenon has been plaguing the town. Residents began to report some strange ongoing incidents involving a horrible creature, that they swore, didn't belong to this world. It was a colossal beast, ranging from three to five meters in height, said to be living in the village forest — according to the reports.

Its body was long and gnarled, resembling a tangle of vines and tough wood. The ends of what should have been hands were actually sharp, predatory claws. In place of a head was a skull, but not a human one. It was wilder. The bony snout was broad, and the skull gave way to an antler of impetuous horns that branched upwards on either side. Versions of the creature's eyes, however, varied. Some claimed to have seen a yellowish glow reflecting from the eye orbits. Others insisted there were no eyes at all, only that: orbits. Deep and dark, hollow voids.

Due to the astonishing beast – and the overwhelming amount of people who have been confirming reports about it – word quickly spread across the region.

Much to everyone's dismay, the so-called very reliable and safe village began experiencing the greatest influx of outsiders that its records have ever indicated. Authorities, researchers, conspiracy theorists, and above all, reporters, flocked to the area and filled its hotels, pubs, and bakeries. More and more unfamiliar faces roamed the streets, whispering about the strange creature.

Mrs. Beynon, on the other hand, was a middle-aged woman, very devoted to the community, who very much enjoyed spending long afternoons at the house of her dear friend, Mrs. Jenkins. The two engaged in their favorite pastime, which they affectionately liked to call: voicing their concerns about the village.

On that particular evening, Mrs. Beynon had arrived at Mrs. Jenkins's house early. She had an awful lot of concerns about the village that she seemed eager to express.

"I'm telling you, Marta," said Mrs. Beynon, "I saw them with my own eyes. These very eyes right here! Two queer men in dark cloaks hanging around and muttering near old Archie’s bakery this morning. Oh yes, yes they were!"

The two women were sitting in Mrs. Jenkins’s spacious but dimly lit living room. A fire crackled in the hearth, while they sipped on chamomile tea.

"And what do you think they were talking about, Brigitte?" Asked Mrs. Jenkinks.

"Well, you know I would never eavesdrop to other people conversations if it weren't for this... situation we're going through."

"The monster in the woods," added Mrs. Jenkins, sipping her tea with pursed lips.

"Precisely," agreed Mrs. Beynon promptly. "That and this invasion of outsiders. Of course, I try my best to help the authorities and the press as much as I can, but... well, that's not important right now. What matters is that I approached those two, you know, just to make sure they weren't saying anything suspicious... and imagine, Marta! Just imagine my surprise when I heard what I heard! You will never believe it!"

"What? What did they say?"

"Oh, the weirdest things I've ever heard in my entire life! Ministry of M-A-G-I-C!" Mrs. Beynon spelled it out slowly. "You're going to think I'm delusional, but I heard clearly. And you know my ears never fail me!"

Mrs. Jenkins let out a laugh.

"Ministry of Magic? Ha! Where do these lunatics come from?" She asked with a high voice. "It must be another one of those hippie communities, Brigitte. This is what I keep telling you! Remember last summer? That group of gypsies who passed through?"

"Hmm, could be, Marta, could be... but they didn’t seem like hippies to me. They were a bit more… sophisticated."

"Where do you think they're from?"

"Bet they're Londoners. And not only that... it also seemed that we, mere villagers, were being referred to as Muggles! Can you believe such a thing?"

"Nonsense!" Protested Mrs. Jenkins with visible displeasure.

"And I can tell you more, from what I could hear, they seemed to be blaming this... Ministry... for the creature in the forest."

Mrs. Jenkins snorted again. "It doesn't matter which Ministry it is, they’ve all got their problems, we can agree on that," she said wryly . "If it weren't for Gracie and Claudia, my own daughters, saying that they saw that monster, I wouldn’t believe a word of it! But Gracie and Claudia don’t lie. Never have!"

"I know that, Marta, I know. My Hughie would never make something like this up either. Their generation… well, they’re not like ours. Up until recently, Hughie barely left his room, just stared at that computer of his all day! But now that he’s growing up and hanging out with Mathew Cooper, he’s socialising again. And how can I not believe in the creature he says he saw, when he’s barely touched his mobile lately? He’s terrified, poor thing!"

"I don't blame him, Brigitte. Honestly, we used to live so peacefully. Now we have to walk looking over our shoulders. Strangers by the side, monsters in the woods... I wonder if we’ll ever feel safe again!"

"Well of course!" stated Mrs. Beynon, getting up while picking up her bag. "Soon all this will be over and our community will once again be known for what it’s always been: trust and safety! Now, Marta, I must go before Katie closes the minimarket. I promised Hughie a marmalade pie. I’ll bring you a slice tomorrow, yes?"

Mrs. Jenkins escorted her friend to the door, and the women parted without further ado.

Mrs. Beynon drove to the grocer’s, picked up the missing ingredients—flour, lemon, and grapefruit marmalade—and took the opportunity to press the cashier for any scraps of gossip about the mysterious creature. Then she drove through the dimly lit streets, her sharp eyes flicking over the faces of passersby.

More strangers, thought Mrs Beynon grimly.

When she reached the last house on the cul-de-sac, she parked the car in the garage, took the groceries out of the boot, and hurried inside. The night was starting to get cold quickly.

"Hello, dear," she said as she passed her husband, who was sitting on the couch. "Where’s Hughie?"

Mr. Beynon, a portly man with thinning hair and rectangular glasses, was having a pint while watching the news.

"Went out. Matt's house," he replied, simply.

"Hmm... well, he’d better not be out too late. It’s not exactly safe with all that’s going on," she muttered.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Beynon murmured back.

Mrs. Beynon huffed sharply, and decided to sent a quick text message to her son before she even started with her special marmalade pie.

Don't stay out too long. Say hi to Matt’s mum.

Then she pinned back her dyed hair, washed her hands, and got to work. She prepared the dough first, then the filling. Finally, she shoved the container through the oven and went to sit beside Mr. Beynon, who had to squeeze a little for the two to fit on the sofa. However, for Mrs. Beynon, the news always meant tragedy, and perhaps because of that, she remained uneasy. She couldn't concentrate on the news and went back to checking her phone again.

"Weird," commented Ms. Beynon. "No reply yet.” 

"Hugh’s grown up now, dear. You worry too much. Let him have some fun, will you?"

Mrs. Beynon shot her husband a reproachful look.

"Nonsense," she said, and typed another message:

Your pie is in the oven. Don't get home late.

Still, no answer. The pie was ready, the hours passed, and Hughie remained silent.

It's late, Hughie. Hurry up! I left the pie in the fridge.

She wrote again before going to bed.

She tossed and turned under the covers before finally slipping into a restless sleep. Yet, in the quiet of her dreams, Mrs. Beynon couldn’t know that hours later, the message remained unread. Nor that, ten kilometers away, the two men she’d seen earlier that morning were now stepping into the forest’s winding paths.

"A skull with horns, huh?," asked the older man.

"That’s what they said, Callaghan! And they’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen, by the way. These Muggles have wild imaginations!" laughed the younger. "We’ve got to give them credit for that. It’s a shame their imagination just wasted our whole day. You sure we can’t just go back?"

"Actually, we can," Callaghan answered calmly “I just imagined that, you know, maybe you wouldn’t want to return to the office completely bare handed without even trying.”

Jerry scowled at him, but Callaghan didn’t seem to notice. He walked a few steps ahead, holding his wand aloft. Despite being shorter, Callaghan had a clearly more lined, mature face. Beyond the creases on the forehead, at the corners of the gray eyes, there were deep frown lines. His beard, once completely dark, was already starting to turn gray. Jerry, on the other hand, had a mop of curly brown hair, a round nose, and green eyes that looked more like a pair of olives.

They moved cautiously through the thick forest, their long leather cloaks brushing over twigs and dry leaves. The cawing of nocturnal animals echoed around them. Apart from the moonlight filtering through the treetops, the only illumination came from the glowing tips of their wands. They were completely enveloped by the thick vegetation and pitch darkness.

"Hmph. If you ask me, Robards couldn’t care less about us," Jerry muttered. "You don’t really think this thing exists, do you? It’s probably just a bunch of Muggle kids playing make-believe. Looking for attention, if you ask me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you, kid".

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, remember that young Muggle lad we questioned at the bakery earlier today? The one who looked all tough, but went as pale as a snow owl’s feather when we mentioned the monster? The one you said was probably only big on the outside and chicken on the inside? Let’s just say you’ve got an eye for it, Jerry. He was scared out of his wits."

"Blimey, Callaghan, you were... wow! I’ve heard you’re a good Legilimens, but I didn’t think you were that good. I didn’t even notice you were inside that Muggle’s head!"

"That's the secret, kid."

"So... he really saw it? The creature, I mean?"

Callaghan didn’t respond right away, but turned to face Jerry with a subtle smile that said more than words.

“This is… bloody hell, I don’t even know what!” Jerry burst out. “How can there be a five-metre-high monster roaming around that’s not in our records?”

"There's more to life than we catalog, kid. I know you don't have much field experience yet, but give it a few years and, you’ll get it. Life is out here, not in the Ministry office".

Jerry looked like he had something clever to say, maybe even sarcastic, but whatever it was got stuck in his throat. Suddenly, a loud, ripping sound tore through the quiet like the sky itself had been split in two. Birds exploded from the trees, a chaotic symphony of wings and panicked squawking, swirling against the dark in a euphoric chirp. 

Everything else happened too fast. 

As the two Aurors drew their wands and dropped into a battle stance, a blast of light cut across the sky not far from where they stood. Callaghan and Jerry bolted towards it, but the beam vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Still, they pressed on, ignoring the branches that whipped across their cloaks, determined to find something, anything. A witness, a clue, or maybe...

They stopped. 

Frozen like statues, rooted to the spot by the horror that unfolded before them.

"In Merlin's name..." Jerry murmured.

Lower down, the earth dipped into a natural hollow where massive stones stood suspended like ancient sentinels. The clearing, bathed in moonlight, was cloaked in green. Moss-covered, overgrown, and forgotten by time. The stones formed a rough circle, enclosing a macabre scene: four bodies, or half of them. Two boys and two girls, in pair, with their torso stuck together. They were lying outstretched on the mossy stone slabs, each facing different directions.

Their mouths hung open. Eyes wide. Faces frozen in a silent, eternal scream.

Not a single scratch marked their skin. Yet nothing about them was right. The flesh over their skulls hung loose and lifeless. All the blood that had once flowed through their veins now seeped from the slabs, pooling slowly in the centre of the stone ring. There, standing alone, was a portal of sorts. A stone arch, ancient and worn, choked by ivy and slime. What was in that passage, however, was unknown, as the opening was completely obscure. From where they stood, neither Callaghan nor Jerry could see what lay within.

Callaghan took a cautious step back from the clearing. Jerry followed silently, watching Callaghan retrieve a tiny piece of brown parchment from within his robes. Upon it was a single emblem: a wand positioned at the heart of a large, ornate "M".

"Diffindo", murmured Callaghan, pointing his wand to his own finger.

At once, a thin stream of blood appeared at the tip of his index finger. A few droplets fell onto the parchment, spreading across the emblem until the whole thing ignited in a brief, brilliant flame, and disintegrated into ash.

“Think he’ll come?” Jerry asked cautiously. 

“He'll be here any second”. 

Carwyn gave his wand a flick, and a long, curved pipe materialised in his hand. He had just lit it with a spark from his own wand again when a third man appeared in front of them in a blink of an eye.  

He was of average height, with well-cut, golden-blond hair already streaked with grey at the temples. His sharp eyes were alert, far too alert, which somehow gave him a youthful, commanding presence. This was Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office.

“All right,” he said as he approached. “What’ve we got?”

Jerry swallowed thickly. "I've never seen anything like it before, sir. It looks like... some kind of ritual, sir."

Robards grunted in acknowledgement and turned to Callaghan. "What do you reckon, Callaghan?"

“There’s no doubt about it, Robards. It’s an ancient ritual,” Callaghan replied, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen one like this, though.”

Robards nodded grimly in resignation and moved past them to where the bodies lay. Callaghan and Jerry followed, stepping carefully around the blood-soaked stone.

"None of this makes sense," Callaghan murmured. “We spoke to this one this morning. A teenage Muggle from the village. Just a kid… His name was Hugh Beynon.”

“A tragedy,” Robards said quietly. “They all seem about the same age.”

He crossed the stone circle and stepped toward the portal.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “Lumos.”

The tip of his wand lit up and he entered the darkened crypt. Less than a minute passed before he re-emerged.

“Well?” Jerry asked, breath catching.

"Nothing but heavy stone walls inside. Except..." Robards pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "A symbol. Carved into the wall, opposite the entrance." He turned to the others, all business again. "I want this entire area sealed off. Put up a perimeter. No Muggles get through. And summon a full team. We’ll need our best. Put Potter on the case, too."

“Er... sir,” Jerry said, hesitating. “I don’t think Potter will be... available right now.”

That same night, a baby was born.

A baby was whose existence would still be known by many people across the world. Not because of anything he had done, of course — after all, how could he? — Furthermore, as an only few hours old, he would never have known that the crimes committed that night would go on to become one of the most difficult cases ever faced by the Auror Section. Nor that, during the years that followed, the case would still remain a complete mystery. 

None of these reasons, however, seemed to matter for his privileged recognition or conferred merit, as, in fact, they were not. The only thing that set the child apart was the name he carried. He was the son of the most renowned man in the wizarding world. And his father had bestowed upon him a name that one day would resonate as that of a great and brilliant wizard. 

His name was Albus Severus Potter.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER TWO —

The Compartment of Collisions

Al Potter considered himself a rather ordinary boy in many respects. For one thing, he had loving parents and two close siblings who, like most brothers and sisters, could quarrel and laugh together with almost equal intensity. Al was the middle child, exactly two years younger than his brother James, and two years older than his sister Lily. That also meant that, like other oddly ordinary people, there were times when he was expected to follow someone’s example and others when he had to set one himself. 

Besides, beyond his siblings, Al had also a lot of cousins. 

Not just two or three, nor even a couple of pairs or half a dozen. There were nine of them in total, which, in and of itself, was already more than enough to make up an entire Quidditch team — with two reserves. However, even among those nine, there was only one who shared his exact age. Her name was Rose Granger-Weasley, and she was sitting right beside him on this cosy autumn morning, at the very moment when our story begins. 

The two of them were ready to set off for school, just as many eleven-year-olds must. The only exception was, in fact, that Al and Rose school was anything but ordinary. Hogwarts had always been, and still remained, the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry for young witches and wizards across the world. 

All in all, magic was hardly an unusual thing in Al’s life. Just like him, his parents, his siblings, and all nine of his cousins — both older and younger — were witches or wizards. By any measure, it was fair to say that spells and flying broomsticks were a rather normal part of Al’s life. Mundane, even. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone in the wizarding world seemed to know his name before he ever introduced himself. And maybe the fact that his father’s name still appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet more often than not. 

Not because he sought attention, as Al’s dad hated attention, but because Harry Potter was no ordinary man. He was a national hero, one of the youngest Head Aurors in Ministry history, and, more importantly, the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The man who had faced the darkest wizard of all time and won. And while the battle he led had ended more than a decade ago, its legacy lived on in headlines and whispers, in history books and commemorative chocolate frog cards.

Al knew his father didn’t want to be famous. He’d heard it enough times, in private conversations over washing up and in offhand remarks over Sunday tea. But in the eyes of the public, Harry Potter was more than a man, he was a symbol. And sometimes, Al felt it was a lot to carry around, that kind of ultra-respected name. Especially when it was printed on your school robes.

And then there was the strange dream he’d had the night before. Something about stones, and a shadow, and voices he couldn’t quite place.

Al had woken up that morning feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Not fear exactly, just a low hum of... anticipation. It was a good thing, whatsoever, that his Mum had said the feeling would fade away before he even realised it. 

“It’s nerves, love,” she’d told him. “Happened to me, too, my first year. Felt like I had a Quaffle lodged in my throat until I saw the Hogwarts feast for the first time. Nothing like going from stale porridge at the Burrow to treacle tart and roast beef appearing out of thin air,” she’d said.

Al liked that image. Maybe it was time to stop worrying so much and start thinking about that delicious feast instead. After all, no one can panic while biting into a good Yorkshire pudding. The train jolted. Then again. And just like that, with a puff of steam and the soft screech of iron on track, the Hogwarts Express began to move. Al pressed his nose to the glass for a moment, watching the platform slowly fade away. He caught one last glimpse of his parents waving, and Lily squashed against Mum’s waist, her face pressed into her coat.

As the tracks curved around a bend, Rose finally leaned back into her seat.

“Isn’t it strange to think our parents met right here?” She asked. “I mean… it might’ve even been this exact compartment!”

“I suppose,” said Al. “But that would be a pretty weird coincidence.”

“More than coincidence!” Rose exclaimed, pointing suddenly out the window. “Look, do you see that cat?”

Across the narrow road outside the station, perched regally atop a wall of bricks seemingly too small to hold him, sat a large tabby cat, tail curled neatly around his feet. He blinked once, slowly, as if entirely aware he was being observed.

“Who knows where he’s been,” Rose went on, “but somehow, he ended up right there , at the precise moment we looked out. Sometimes, I think it’s not all about coincidence, but a long string of little things that lead to something... unexpected.”

Al glanced from the cat to his cousin, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You sound like your mum.”

“Thanks,” Rose replied matter-of-factly, pulling a thick book from her bag. “She bought me the latest edition last time we went to the Alley.” She held it up to eye level, showing him the brown leather cover of Hogwarts: A History .

“You gonna read it?” Al asked.

“Already did. Want to have a go?”

“Not really. Feels like homework already.”

The rhythmic clatter of the train over the tracks became their backdrop as the windows filled with fields and distant woodlands, the city fading behind them. Al leaned back, a soft unease still coiled somewhere in his stomach — maybe from the expectation, or maybe from the continuous whispers he could hear just outside the door.

Now and then, hushed voices rose and fell from the corridor, and Al didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were about. He could feel the glances, quick ones through the glass. Students passing by just slow enough to steal a peek at him : the newest Potter. Harry Potter’s son. Some of them were probably trying to spot the lightning bolt, just in case the scar had passed down like a family heirloom.

James had warned him this would happen; warned in the same way James did everything: with far too much enthusiasm.

“They’ll stare,” James had said that morning, ruffling Al’s hair while stuffing a Chocolate Frog into his pocket. “Best just flash a smile and act mysterious. Works for Dad.”

Al hadn’t smiled then, and he surely wasn’t smiling now.

“They’re only curious,” Rose glanced sideways at him. “Most of them will forget it after the Sorting, once they have their own houses and their own problems to worry about.”

“You think?”

“I’m fairly certain of it. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be parading around for attention like someone else we both know…Oh!” She exclaimed suddenly, perked up. “The trolley’s here! Finally, I wonder what they’ve got this year?”

Al let out a small laugh, knowing exactly who she meant. James had always acted like Hogwarts was his personal stage. As the trolley witch approached, Rose popped up to the door, chatting cheerily with the old witch as if they'd known each other for years. Al joined her, and the two returned to their seats moments later with a generous pile of treats: Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, and something new wrapped in golden foil with a sticker that read Cauldron Crunch — Pop! Guaranteed.

They were just unwrapping their first Pumpkin Pasties when the compartment door slid open with a sharp clatter.

A boy with platinum blond hair stood awkwardly in the doorway, followed closely by a girl with a freckled nose and perfectly aligned curls. The boy’s eyes went wide, clearly startled by the equally startled expressions on Al and Rose’s faces.

There was a beat of silence, and then the boy cleared his throat.

“Er — sorry. We had a… sort of inconvenience in our compartment.”

Al swallowed awkwardly. He didn’t need Rose’s sharp intake of breath beside him to know who the boy was. His uncle Ron had already made that perfectly clear.

That was Scorpius Malfoy.

Rose said nothing, but Al could feel her eyes on him. The new girl, however, looked completely unbothered by the tension, and gave them both a cheerful nod.

“Hi. I’m Riley. Do you mind if we sit?”

Scorpius hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the spotlight. His hand tugged at the sleeve of his coat, and his voice was softer this time when he added, “We… we really don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s all right”, Al said oddly, unsure if there was anything all right at all.

Scorpius and Riley slid into the seats opposite them. Riley, completely at ease, began unwrapping a Chocolate Frog from her own stash while Scorpius sat stiffly, eyes flickering between Al and Rose like he was bracing for something.

Al studied him. He didn’t seem like someone to be afraid of, nor even as cocky as he’d assume he was. In fact, he looked more like someone who was used to being cautious around people. Or worse, being dismissed before he’d even spoken.

Scorpius caught him looking and offered the smallest of smiles, the kind people give when they’re not sure if they’re welcome.

“I know who you are,” he said to Al, a bit too bluntly. “Sorry. I just… I think everyone probably does.”

Al blinked. “Right back at you.”

To his surprise, Scorpius laughed. A proper, genuine laugh that made his shoulders relax a little. “I suppose we’re in the same boat, then,” he said.

“Train,” Riley corrected brightly. “We’re in the same train.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, then cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m Rose. Rose Granger-Weasley. And you said your name was Riley…?”

“Travers,” she said. “No relation to anyone famous for any good deeds, I suppose. Unless you count my Aunt Moira, who once hexed a goblin banker into thinking he was a badger. Long story.”

Al and Rose exchanged a glance. Travers was another family name quite known in the wizarding world. And then again, not exactly for the right reasons. 

Just as the Malfoys, the Travers family was one of the older and proudest pure-blood lines in Britain. Anciant, influential, and steeped in tradition. But their legacy wasn’t quite the sort sung about in school songs or polished into heroic legend. Over the centuries, the name Travers had surfaced time and again aligned with dark wizards. Still, Riley didn’t carry that menacing air the name sometimes evoked. She was bright-eyed, chatty, and had a kind of easy charm, like someone who might even befriend a Niffler, just for a laugh.

Al wasn’t sure what had happened in her branch of the family tree, but either way, there was something disarming about Riley Travers. A breezy confidence that made you want to sit beside her, not shrink away. Moreover, there was also something oddly familiar about her. Al tilted his head, watching her for a moment. Her hair seemed to shift slightly of its own accord, and her robes were rumpled at the shoulder as if she’d slept in them or possibly wrestled a garden gnome before boarding the train.

But it was her face, her eyes, that made Al sure he’d seen her before. He just couldn’t figure out where.

“No bollocks!” Riley suddenly yelped, springing upright as her Chocolate Frog leapt onto her knee. She snatched it back and turned over the card inside, her grin spreading. “Take a look at who I got!”

She held up the card so the others could see. Printed in shimmering bronze ink, was a moving image of a woman with a sharp, intelligent face, quick brown eyes, and hair that looked like it had once been tamed and then changed its mind halfway through.

The name beneath the portrait read:

Hermione Granger-Weasley
Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement; Former Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Creatures; Member of Dumbledore’s Army; Co-Founder of S.P.E.W.; Played a significant role in the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of You-Know-Who.

“That’s your mum, right?” Riley asked, handing the card across to Rose. “You’ve got to have a full drawer of these at home!”

Rose looked mildly horrified. “She keeps them in a shoebox. And she pretends she doesn’t know where it is.”

“She should sign them,” Scorpius said thoughtfully, “You know, like Muggles do with sports players.”

“I’m sure Uncle Ron’s suggested that already,” Al muttered.

Rose rolled her eyes. “And I’m sure he was ignored. As usual.”

They laughed again, this time a little easier, the weight in the compartment slowly giving way to the sugary blur of Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Crunch wrappers. Rose leaned back into her seat, tearing the corner off a Liquorice Wand.

“So… you two already knew each other?” she asked casually, though her eyes seemed to flicker with smoldering curiosity.

Scorpius cast a quick glance at Riley, but she held her head high, her tone as cheerful as ever.

“Yeah. Scorp and I know each other because of our parents. They’re friends.”

“Well, we’ve known each other practically since we were babies,” Scorpius added. “And after Mr and Mrs Travers moved from Devon to Wiltshire, we even ended up neighbours.”

“Devon?” Al repeated, his voice slowing with dawning recognition. “No way… you’re that Riley? From Otter River?”

Riley suddenly looked a bit abashed, but then she nodded. “Well… I wasn’t sure if you’d even remember.”

Both Rose and Scorpius looked equally surprised. “Wait, you two know each other?!” they asked at once.

“Rose, don’t you remember?” said Al, turning to his cousin. “She’s the girl who lived across the river — Riley!”

Rose stared at him blankly for a beat before her eyes widened, as though someone had flicked on a Lumos charm right behind them.

“Riley! Of course!” she exclaimed, slapping her forehead. “How could I forget, when you wouldn’t shut up about ‘Riley this’ and ‘Riley that’ all summer long?”

“I was nine! ” Al protested, his ears turning pink. “And all we did was try to practise some magic together!”

“Yeah,” smirked Riley. “Remember the time we managed to levitate that frog up the hill?”

“I always wished Rose could’ve met you back then. She probably would’ve known how to stop the frog from floating off, but… oh, wait! I did try to introduce you two once!”

“I remember,” Rose cut in. “You made me cross the river and trek all the way to her house, but it was empty.”

Riley’s expression darkened slightly. She looked down at the floor, her fingers tightening briefly around the edge of her own Liquorice Wand wrapper.

“Sorry about that,” she said quietly. “The move… It was sudden. I didn’t even know it was happening.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Al said at once. And he meant it.

He was genuinely glad to see her again. From what he remembered, Riley had been remarkably good at controlling her magic — unusually good, in fact, for someone who hadn’t even started at Hogwarts. There’d always been something special about her, like the way a spell sometimes hums before you cast it.

Among his siblings, Al had been the only one to know her. At one point, he’d even wondered whether Riley had been real at all, or if she’d been some sort of friendly poltergeist only he could see.

“Well, it’s not that bad, is it?” said Scorpius, attempting to lighten the mood. “I mean, she didn’t move too far away. Just Wiltshire. Imagine if she’d ended up at Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts!”

Rose immediately perched forward in her seat, her eyes lighting up with glee. “Actually, Aunt Fleur says that Beauxbatons sits on the edge of the Pyrenees, nestled between two enchanted lakes that only appear at night, and—”

The compartment settled into warm chatter as they tumbled on, one topic tripping over the next: the legends they’d heard about the schools, the strange rumours about Hogwarts' dungeons, the subjects they were most excited for — or terrified of — and even which secret passageways would lead to...

“Urgh. Someone’s let off a Tarlo Snapper out there!”

The compartment door slid open with a thump, and a tall boy with windswept bronze-coloured hair leapt in, dramatically fanning the air behind him.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER THREE —

The Foul Fog

"Mind if I join you?" the boy asked, his nose buried in the sleeve of his robes.

All four turned to peer through the compartment’s window. A sticky, moss-green fog had begun curling through the corridor, thick as pea soup and twice as foul.

“No,” said Riley and Rose at once, their faces contorted in identical looks of disgust.

“Not at all,” added Al and Scorpius.

"Cheers. I’m Ben Nott. First-years too?"  

Al had to stop himself from gaping. Ben was so tall and self-assured that Al had assumed he was at least a year above them, perhaps even playing as a Seeker of one of the houses already. The idea of him being a fellow newcomer was faintly unnerving.

“We are,” Riley replied simply. “I’m Riley.”

“I’m Scorpius.”

“My name’s Rose. Rose Granger-Weasley. And this is my cousin, Albus.”

“Al,” he corrected.

“Oh” murmured Ben, his eyes flickering across them all, as though about to say something, but deciding better of it.

Instead, he reached into the deep pockets of his coat and produced a crumpled handful of brightly coloured boxes.

“Want some? Got them from the trolley before that… mist started. Doubt it’ll be coming through again any time soon.”

“Brilliant,” said Riley, snatching a box without hesitation.

“Riley!” hissed Scorpius in a scandalised whisper.

“What? He offered.” 

“Never mind,” Scorpius said, fishing out a slim packet of gummy that hadn't been open yet, buried under more candy, and offering it to Ben. “Give it a try. They’re my favourite.”

Ben reached out gladly to catch one, but Al recognised the bright gluey treat instantly. “Best avoid the red ones,” he advised gravely.

“Fire Spit-Flare,” Riley said proudly. “Always leaves your tongue covered in pink spots.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, then exchanged it for a blindingly green one. “Cheers,” he said, popping it in. His eyes watered, and his mouth opened tremendously, giving space for a continuous, voluminous burp.

“Acid Spit-Flare,” said Scorpius, unable to hold a joyful laugh. “Always gives you the best burps.”

Al didn't know why, but it was very easy to join in with Scorpius's giggling. Ben smirked as well, through the grimace of sour flavour.

“So, have you lot thought about what house you want to be in?”

Suddenly, Al felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Of all the questions he’d dreaded, that was the one he most wanted to avoid. Yet Ben had asked it so fast and easily that Al was caught off guard.

Rose, on the other hand, was as ready as ever.

“Gryffindor. Definitely,” she said with the unwavering confidence of someone who had memorised all four house mottos and underlined the Gryffindor one twice.

“Slytherin,” said Scorpius.

“Er… not sure. Maybe Slytherin too,” said Riley thoughtfully, chewing her sweet and frowning a little.

“Slytherin for me, no question about it,” Ben added, tossing the gummy wrapper aside. “You lot are lucky. My compartment’s full of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. No offence, Rose.”

Al was stunned.

Not because Ben had said it. But because everyone had.

He could feel Rose was tense beside him, likely holding back a monologue on exactly why she would never, under any circumstances, be sorted into Slytherin. But what stunned Al the most was this: for the first time in his life, he was surrounded by people who didn’t seem slightly tensed by Slytherin's bad reputation. And, above all, people who didn’t consider Gryffindor the only house worth being in.

“What about you, Al?” Ben asked again, now casually inspecting the hallway fog through the glass.

“Uh… I’m not sure yet either.” 

“No big deal,” Ben shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

He stood up at once and cracked the door open. “Right… looks like the stink’s cleared. See you at the ceremony, then? And, cheers for the sweets.”

“Right,” Al said.

“Bye,” the others echoed.

Ben left with a crooked grin, and the door clicked shut behind him. For a few moments, the compartment was silent. Al didn’t dare meet Rose’s eyes, knowing perfectly well she was throwing him a glare hot enough to scorch his eyebrows. Instead, he stared out at the rolling hills and creeping twilight, pretending to admire the view.

He knew what she was thinking. They had always, always said, that they’d end up in the same house. But the closer they got to Hogwarts, the more uncertain that promise became.

Outside, sheep and cows grazed across vast, emerald fields dotted with puffs of drifting cloud. But inside, Rose sat stiffly, arms crossed and jaw set. A perfect portrait of simmering indignation. Not everyone, however, seemed inclined to honour her silence.

“You know,” said Scorpius, this time fishing something shiny from the pocket of his tailored coat, “Slytherin’s not actually that bad of a house.” He held up a silver-edged card for them to see. “Everyone knows Merlin was the greatest wizard of all time, but hardly anyone mentions that he studied under Salazar Slytherin himself.”

“He did?” Al asked before he could even stop himself.

Scorpius nodded and handed him the card. Unlike Chocolate Frog cards, this one had neat perforations around its edges. The tiny image of Merlin raised his staff ever so slightly, as though acknowledging Al’s interest.

“What are those?” Al asked, fascinated.

“Cards from the World Wizarding Battle Deck. WWBD for short,” Scorpius explained. “Dad brought them back from one of his trips.”

Al flipped the card over and read the back:

The most famous wizard of all time. Also known as the Prince of Enchanters. Founder of the Order of Merlin and creator of one of the most powerful magical artefacts in wizarding history: Merlin’s Staff. A recognised member of King Arthur’s court, he helped unite the two worlds and brought light to an age of darkness.

“Comes with bonus trivia too,” Al thought, before offering the card to Rose, who made no effort whatsoever to take it.

“Well,” she said crisply, “everyone knows the greatest modern wizard was a Gryffindor : Dumbledore. He’s got an entire chapter in the latest edition of Wizards Who Made History .”

“I know,” said Scorpius lightly. “And Merlin’s been in every edition since the very first one. I suppose he’s still important, even after all this time.”

The tips of Rose’s ears turned an unmistakable shade of pink.

Al glanced across to Riley and was relieved to see that she, too, was trying, and failing, not to laugh. From what he knew of his cousin, Rose was exceptionally bright and relentlessly polite — thanks more to Aunt Hermione than Uncle Ron, he suspected — and it was rare for her to lose her temper with anyone. Her little brother Hugo, maybe, being the lone exception.

And it seemed Scorpius Malfoy had just earned himself a spot on that very exclusive list.

“Anyway,” Al said, trying to cut the tension, “they were both great wizards of their time, weren’t they?”

“And both started out at Hogwarts,” Scorpius added. “Can you imagine one of us becoming the next Great Wizard?”

That earned a laugh from Riley and Al, and even a reluctant smile from Rose.

“Want to see how they’d fare in a duel?”

Scorpius pulled another card from his pocket, this one golden, and placed it beside the silver one on the wooden armrest. At once, two miniature, bearded wizards rose from the cards. A tiny Dumbledore, robed in regal purple, wielded an elegant, elongated wand above the golden card, while a miniature Merlin stood on the silver, clutching a gem-encrusted staff.

Riley shifted in her seat, and both Al and Rose leaned forward.

“They also come with these,” said Scorpius, producing a small velvet pouch. He gave it a shake, and several glittering gemstones spilled across the armrest.

“Each colour matches the type of attack you want to use,” he explained, pointing to tiny indents along the sides of the cards. “You place them in before the game starts, it sets the order for your moves. Here, Rose, want to play with Dumbledore?” he asked, offering her the golden card. “You can team up with Riley, and Al and I will take Merlin. What do you think?”

Rose didn’t hesitate. The four divided into teams, selecting their tokens and setting up the match.

Tiny sparks flew from the armrest as the duel began. Brilliant flares of blue, gold, and red bouncing off the cabin windows. Outside, the hills rose into forested peaks and the towns gave way to a blur of dusk.

Before long, Al found himself completely absorbed in the game, the anxious knot in his chest finally starting to loosen.

Maybe his dad had been right. Maybe it didn’t matter what house he ended up in. Or at least, not as much as he’d let himself believe. Right there, Al decided it was time to stop worrying about James’s taunts and start thinking for himself.

By the time the train began to slow, the sky had turned a deep velvet blue. And with it came the quiet, stirring excitement that only the promise of something extraordinary could bring.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER FOUR —

The Lake Crossing

“I’m going to check in on Dom,” announced Rose, once the Hogwarts Express had come to a complete stop. “And you really should put on your robes now, you know,” she added, with the sort of certainty that dared no protest, before vanishing through the door.

Rose, in fact, was the only one between them who had properly dressed since she’d left her house that morning. Al, Riley and Scorpius had only just shrugged on their black cloaks when a booming, authoritative voice echoed through the train:

“PREPARE TO DISEMBARK. WE WILL SOON BE ARRIVING AT HOGWARTS. PLEASE LEAVE YOUR LUGGAGE IN THE COMPARTMENTS.”

As the three of them stepped out into the corridor, it was already teeming with students. Al glanced both ways, searching for Rose, but there was no sign of her, or of anyone else familiar, by the way. He began inching forward, squeezing through the throng, which grew thicker with each passing second. Al felt as if it had taken them forever to finally come outside. 

The sky stretched overhead in a deep purple, speckled with stars. The cool night breeze brushed against Al’s cheeks and made his nose itch.

“First-years! First-years, this way! Hey, you there — first-year — over here!”

For Al, that voice was instantly recognisable.

“Hagrid!”

“Al! Good to see you made it in one piece! Blimey… already at Hogwarts, are you? How time flies!” the giant bellowed, laughing heartily. “And who are your friends?”

“This is Riley Travers and Scorpius Malfoy.”

“Hello,” said Scorpius politely.

“Hi there,” added Riley.

Hagrid came to an abrupt halt, causing a short boy walking behind him to smack straight into the back of his massive calf. The boy stumbled a few paces before landing flat on the ground with a thud.

“Malfoy, eh?” Hagrid said, his beetle-black eyes twinkling as he gave Scorpius a look. “Well, Al, who would’ve thought... Oh, sorry ‘bout that.” He turned to the fallen student with a sheepish nod before continuing. “Right — hello there. Now, if you’re friends with Al, you’re friends o’ mine. Name’s Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, and Professor of Care of Magical Creatures.”

Both Riley and Scorpius looked suitably impressed. Meeting a professor on their very first day, and being called friends , was nothing short of extraordinary.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Hagrid,” Scorpius said earnestly.

“Ha, no need for all that,” Hagrid replied, waving a hand the size of a crup. “Just call me Hagrid for now. We’ll save ‘Professor’ for when we’re in class, eh? Now, let’s see…”

Before Hagrid could finish, a voice rang out from behind them.  

“Oi! Albus! Al!”  

“Rose!” Al called, spinning around to see his cousin hurrying up the path. “Where’ve you been?”  

“Looking for you, obviously,” she huffed, catching her breath. “Dominique went off with the second-years, and then I ran into James. He was going on about not getting eaten by the Giant Squid, and — oh, hello, Hagrid!”  

“Oh, little Rosie!” Hagrid boomed, his face breaking into a grin. “My word, you lot don’t stop growin’, do ya? And don’t pay Jimmy any mind; that squid can be right friendly when it fancies. Anyway, everyone here now? Grand… follow me, then! This way!”  

Hagrid led the small group along a narrow, uneven path of stones and gravel. The first-years were silent, all seemingly concentrating on not tripping in the dim light. At one point, Al felt Rose's hand steadying itself on his shoulder as they navigated a particularly tricky stretch.  

“Take a look!” Hagrid called from up ahead.

And as everyone rounded a bend, the path opened up. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Before them stood the towering silhouette of the ancient castle, its countless windows glowing warmly against the night sky. Al's heart somersaulted in his chest. For a moment, he thought he might simply stand there forever.

Riley let out a low whistle. “Blimey.”

Rose nodded in silent awe, but Scorpius and Al didn’t speak.

“Yeh alright there?” Hagrid asked.

“Yeah,” Al managed, his voice cracking just slightly. “Just… yeah.”

“Good. Keep movin’, now,” Hagrid urged, his deep voice snapping Al from his reverie. They reached the lake, shimmering faintly under the starlight. The water was still like black glass, and a line of small wooden boats bobbed gently at the edge. 

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called cheerfully.

One by one, they climbed into the boats. Al, Scorpius, Riley and Rose took one near the back. It rocked slightly as Hagrid placed a heavy boot onto his own boat, which groaned under his weight, but surprisingly held steady. At once, the boats set off, gliding smoothly across the glassy dark water as though pulled by invisible cords beneath the surface. 

The castle loomed ahead now, lighting up more with each silent stroke. Its towers glittered in candlelight, the stained glass windows aglow like embers in a hearth. Riley leaned out over the edge, trailing her fingers through the water. Al winced just watching her; it had to be freezing. Yet she looked perfectly content, her face alight with quiet curiosity.

“Keep your heads low!” Hagrid called as the boats drifted under a curtain of hanging ivy.  

“Ouch! Something pulled my hair,” Rose complained, rubbing her scalp.  

“Probably got caught on one of the vines,” said Scorpius.  

“No… it wasn’t that,” Rose muttered, her brow furrowing.  

The boats shook onward, entering a tunnel carved into the cliffside. Shimmers from the water danced along the damp stone walls, casting rippling patterns. As they neared the docking point, Al spotted something darting just beneath the surface. A glimmer, too large for a fish, too smooth for a stone.

“Did you see that?” he whispered to Rose.

She leaned out over the side. “What? Where?”

But whatever it was had vanished.

The boats bumped gently against the shore, and Hagrid climbed out with a splash that sent little ripples curling across the lake. 

“Follow me, now. Mind your footing on the rocks.”

It was rather dark and clammy around there, and the rocks were really slick. A thin girl skidding precariously near the edge. For a moment, Al was certain she was bound to tumble straight into the lake, but Riley managed to grab hold of her cloak's hood just in time.  

"Cheers..." the girl whispered, breathless with relief.

“Everyone off?” Hagrid called, raising his lantern and peering into the now-empty boats. “Right then, c’mon!”  

He led them up a steep, winding path, his enormous strides forcing the rest to half-trot just to keep pace. At the top, they emerged onto a wide, rolling lawn. Hagrid continued ahead, his heavy boots thudding against the grass, until they reached a short stone staircase. They climbed in single file until they reached the vast doors of Hogwarts. The topmost turrets stretched so high that Al had to tilt his head all the way back just to glimpse their spires spearing into the starlit sky. Light spilled out through the stained glass, casting warm patterns over the grass and moss-covered stone. 

Hagrid raised a fist the size of a Bludger and rapped three times. The sound echoed through the still night.  

“Woaaaaaaaah,” Al and the others breathed as the doors creaked open, revealing the grand entrance hall, just as Al had always imagined, with all its iron twisting candelabras, statuettes and shining armors leaning against the walls.

At the far end, the magnificent ceremonial staircase unfurled like a marble ribbon, splitting off into countless archways and corridors that vanished into the upper reaches of the castle. And there, standing at the base of the staircase, was a man waiting for them.

He had both hands tucked casually into the pockets of his dark green robes, his posture more at ease than imposing. Streaks of silver threaded through his thick, windswept hair and along the stubble on his chin. There was something sharp in his eyes, but Al didn’t think he seemed unkind, just perceptive, like he missed very little. Yet he smiled as they approached, a proper, lopsided sort of smile.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take them from here,” he said pleasantly, his voice carrying easily across the hall.

“Right y’are, Professor Callaghan,” Hagrid nodded. “See you lot soon. Good luck in there!”

Al heard someone gulp. The man turned back to the group. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” he said. “I’m Professor Carwyn Callaghan, and I’ll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.” He offered a quick wink, which earned a few nervous chuckles. “I’m also the Head of Slytherin House and the school’s Deputy Headmaster, for my sins.” He clapped his hands once, briskly. “Now, if you’d all be so kind, two neat lines, please. We’ve a very old hat waiting to have a word with each of you. Follow me.”

Professor Callaghan gave a small flick of his wand, gesturing toward the right direction before setting off at a comfortable pace. Scorpius and Al found themselves somewhere in the middle of one of the lines that formed behind him, while Rose and Riley ended up near the front of the other. No one said a word as they followed the professor on the march. They passed through a tall oak door, behind which came a low murmur, a rustling hush that made Al’s stomach flutter, and came to a halt in front of a smaller door just off the right side.

“Right then,” said Professor Callaghan, pivoting to face them all with a slight raise of the eyebrows. “See that door?” He gestured towards the large oak one they'd just passed. “That, my young fellas, is the entrance to the Great Hall. It’s where you'll be taking all your meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the occasional late-night biscuit, if you’re particularly stealthy. More importantly, it’s where the Sorting Ceremony takes place every year, and where yours is about to begin in only a few minutes.”

“But for now,” he continued, turning toward the smaller door with a confident wave of his wand, “you’ll be waiting in here.”

The door creaked open to reveal a cosy chamber. Small, but richly decorated. A variety of tapestries covered the stone floor, and the room was dotted with velvet armchairs, plump cushions, and deep, squashy sofas, all gathered around a gently crackling fire in a wide hearth. Above the fireplace hung a tall, ornate mirror, flanked on either side by grand framed landscapes: one of a moonlit moor, the other of a golden, windblown field.

Al took a seat on the sofa nearest the door, with Scorpius settling beside him. The girl who had been walking just behind them slipped into the last spot on the cushion. Al recognised her at once, as she was the same girl Riley had caught by the cloak near the edge of the lake. She looked even nervous now, her hands twisting restlessly in her lap.

Once the last of the students had shuffled in and found a place, Professor Callaghan stepped forward, standing with his back to the fire like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“For those of you who aren’t familiar,” he began, “Hogwarts is divided into four Houses: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. Each House carries its own legacy and its own kind of brilliance, for each was founded by one of the four great witches and wizards who established this school centuries ago.”

“In just a moment, you’ll be sorted into one of them. The way you conduct yourselves; your actions, your choices, will earn or lose points for your House throughout the year. And at the end of it all, the points will be tallied, and the House Cup awarded to the winner. But that’s a long way off,” he said, brushing a bit of ash from his sleeve. “For now, all you need to do is wait here shortly while I make sure the old hat’s awake and ready for you. Oh, and between us, the welcome feast that comes after is, in my most humble opinion, the finest bit of magic Hogwarts has to offer.”

With a final smile, he slipped through the door and disappeared. At the same instant, a wave of quiet chatter burst into life, bouncing between the walls like bubbles in a cauldron.

“How… how do they do it?” asked the girl beside them, her voice barely above a whisper. “The Sorting. Is it… is it some kind of test?”

Now that they were under proper lighting, Al could see her more clearly. She had wide brown eyes and hair so fine he could glimpse the tops of her ears peeking through. She looked uncertain, almost frightened. Al wondered if she might be Muggle-born.

“It’s not a test,” he said, gently. “It’s really the Sorting Hat that decides.”

“A hat?”

“Yeah,” said Rose, who had reappeared beside them with Riley in tow. “A hat that was enchanted by the founders themselves. At least, that’s what Mum told me. I think it’s a relic, really.”

“I don’t know, Rose,” said Scorpius, looking wary. “From what Dad told me, it just sounds like an old hat that knows what house to put you in.”

“Well, of course it’s old,” Rose replied in a tone that suggested this was the most obvious thing in the world. “But it’s still the only artifact the four founders created together .”

“The only one we know about,” Riley added thoughtfully.

“You think there might be more?” Al asked.

“Who’s to say?” she pondered, before turning her attention to the girl huddled quietly on the sofa, who had been listening without a word. “I’m Riley. What’s your name?”

“Eusebia,” she said softly, blinking as all eyes turned to her. “Eusebia Wright. But you can call me Sebbie, if you like.”

“Hi, Sebbie. I’m Rose.”

 “I’m Scorpius. Nice to meet you.”

 “And I’m Albus. But everyone just calls me Al,” he offered with a smile.

“Look, Lucretia! The first-years have arrived!” cried an enthusiastic voice somewhere to their left.

Everyone turned to look at one of the framed landscape paintings on the wall, where a knight on horseback had just galloped into view, his hair windswept and armour gleaming. The excited chatter faded at once as the new students crowded around the portrait.

“Greetings, fledglings!” he announced with a theatrical bow. “On behalf of the Confederation of Frames, Portraits, Paintings & Scribbles of Hogwarts, allow me to welcome you most warmly!”

“Oh, wonderful… more students,” drawled a woman in a green gown who had materialised in the adjoining frame. “Don’t pay him too much attention, will you? It only encourages him. That so-called confederation doesn’t even exist. He’s a wandering knight portrait, they talk more than they think.”

“I heard that, my enchanted damsel,” the knight sang out, not at all offended. “In any case, I do hope you find yourselves in the finest of the four! Gryffindor!”

Al swallowed, his mouth a little dry. But before he had time to dwell on it, Professor Callaghan reappeared in the doorway.

“Right then,” he said again, nodding toward the exit. “It’s finally time.”

They followed him out into the Entrance Hall once more and stopped before the oak doors. With a flick of his wand, they swung open wide.

And for the second time that evening, Al felt his jaw drop.

The Great Hall glowed with a warm golden light. The floor and walls were built of honey-coloured stone, and hundreds of floating candles flickered above their heads. But oddly enough, above the candles there was no ceiling at all. Or at least, it didn’t look like one. Instead, the sky stretched overhead, dark purple and speckled with stars, exactly as it had been outside.

Al knew, of course, that it wasn’t really the sky — his parents had told him about the enchanted ceiling of Hogwarts — but even so, the effect was dazzling. Rose had already drifted toward the front with Riley, both of them looking utterly mesmerised. Al hung back, taking it all in. Scorpius did the same, and they caught each other’s eye with identical, dazed grins.

Their shared wonder was enough to push away any nerves.

“Do you reckon it rains in here?” asked Sebbie behind them, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “What if the Hall floods… do they turn the tables into boats?”

“It’s a charm,” Scorpius explained. “Makes the ceiling look like the sky. Are you the first in your family to come to Hogwarts?”

Sebbie nodded quickly.

“I thought my parents were going to faint when Professor Callaghan showed up at our house with the letter. They’re not… I mean, they’re not wizards. Honestly, it still feels strange to say that out loud.”

“You get used to it,” Al offered, though truthfully he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was like to grow up with Muggles.

By then, they had passed between four long wooden tables, each crowded with students in black robes, chattering excitedly and sneaking glances at the newcomers. House banners hung overhead. Crimson and gold, green and silver, blue and bronze, and yellow and black; fluttering gently in a breeze that didn’t quite exist.

The first-years finally stopped at the foot of a small raised platform where another, much shorter table, stood. It was the staff table, where the teachers were seated, watching the newcomers with expressions ranging from curious to kindly to downright unreadable. And just in front of them all, placed alone and rather humbly, was a rickety three-legged stool, atop which rested a battered, patchwork wizard’s hat.

Sebbie gave a tiny jump when the rip near its brim split open  and the Sorting Hat began to sing.

Each house has seen its finest days,
With pupils bold and bright;
They carried out their founders’ ways,
Their torches burning light.

So now it’s time to find anew
The ones who’ll wear their crest
Will you be counted with the few
Who rise above the rest?

The House of Eagles, sharp and keen,
With wit and wisdom near
If clever thoughts are what you crave,
Then Ravenclaw draws near.

The House of Serpents, wise and sleek,
With cunning minds and aims
If you are bold, ambitious too,
Then Slytherin calls your name.

The House of Lions, brave and true,
With courage at its core
If heart and justice guide your hand,
Then Gryffindor’s your door.

The House of Badgers, just and kind,
The loyal and the fair
Their quiet strength, oft left behind,
Is found beyond compare.

Each house has seen its finest days,
With pupils strong and bright;
But will you be the one who stays
To set the world alight?

So place me smartly on your head,
Don’t flinch or wriggle round
I’ll rummage through what’s in your mind
Until your place is found!

Come now, don’t be frightened, friend
I’m more than just a hat!
A clever hat, a singing hat,
And I’ll tell you just like that.

When the Hat had finished its song, Professor Callaghan climbed the short set of steps, came to a halt beside the stool, and addressed the room:

“Once I call your name, kindly take a seat here to be Sorted, and then join your House table.”

With a small flick of his wand, a roll of tawny parchment spiralled out of thin air and landed neatly in the palm of his hand.

Chapter Text

 — CHAPTER FIVE — 

The Hatstall

“Andrews, Ashley,” called the professor.

A girl with short, sandy-blonde hair climbed the steps in careful, tentative little steps and perched on the stool. The professor placed the Sorting Hat over her head and—

“GRYFFINDOR!”

She leapt up at once and made her way toward the Gryffindor table, where applause and whistles rang through the hall. From his place among the first-years, Al could just make out James sitting near the end. Although he was certain there were other familiar faces there too. Fred, Molly, and Dominique were all proud Gryffindors.

Professor Callaghan carried on, his scroll floating at his side.

“Blackwell, Blake.”
“SLYTHERIN!”
“Blatch, Theodora.”
“HUFFLEPUFF!”

With each name, Al felt his nerves creep higher; his hands growing clammy. Then, at last, after fifteen or more students had gone up, he heard a name he recognised.

“Granger-Weasley, Rose!”

Al saw his cousin close her eyes briefly, then take a deep breath before making her way to the three-legged stool. She looked anxious, just as he felt, but the moment the Sorting Hat touched her head, he could almost see the tension melt away.

“GRYFFINDOR!” came the shout a few seconds later.

And Gryffindor’s table exploded with cheers once more. Al clapped along and caught sight of James standing up on the bench, fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly above the din. Rose hopped down, grinning, and gave Al a quick smile before heading over to her new Housemates. He watched her go, feeling that annoying tight knot settle deeper in his stomach.

A few more names passed—Hawkins, Fairbairn, Fenwick…—before the next familiar one arrived:

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

The Sorting Hat took a little longer with him than it had with Rose, but not by much, as it soon echoed:

“SLYTHERIN!”

Scorpius looked visibly relieved as Professor Callaghan lifted the hat from his head. Al turned to peek at the Slytherin table, where Scorpius was now being welcomed with nods, handshakes, and a few friendly pats on the back.

“Nott, Benvolio!” called the professor.

It was the Spit-Flare Gum boy. He marched up to the stool, and just a few moments later, he was grinning ear to ear as he joined the Slytherins.

Then—

“Potter, Albus!”

The murmur that usually drifted through the Great Hall fell into sudden stillness. Al blinked. It was finally his turn.

“Go on,” Riley whispered beside him. “Good luck...”

“Thanks,” muttered Al, barely hearing his own voice.

He stepped forward and climbed the steps, legs like stone. As he turned to look at the four long tables, it felt like his heart had lodged itself somewhere in his throat. Voices drifted through the silence like smoke:

“Another Potter, is it?”
“Bet you ten Galleons he’s a Gryffindor too.”

Then the ragged Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, far too big, falling past his nose and blocking out the Hall. All he could see was the dark inside of the Hat, and all he could hear now was:

“Hmm... well, this is promising. Clever, oh yes. And thoughtful too. Plenty of caution... but not without courage. A sharp little mind, I see. Raised well, raised kindly. And ambition, yes, there’s a glimmer of something bigger. You want to prove yourself, don’t you?”

Al’s heart was hammering. He didn’t dare speak aloud, but the thoughts tumbled forward anyway.

“Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student,” it was his father’s voice, emerging in his mind. The words he shared quietly with Al, just before the Hogwarts Express departure.

"Slytherin, is it?” The Hat asked again. “Is that what you want?"

Al tried to remember what else his Dad had said. Something about him being able to make his own decision. About the Sorting Hat taking one's choice into account. Al squeezed his eyes shut beneath the brim, his fingers curling tightly against the edge of the stool.

I want to be where I truly belong. I want to become the best version of who I’m meant to be. I just... want to do things right.

The Sorting Hat gave a low, thoughtful hum.

“Curious... I see a good deal of potential. Plenty of houses that could shape you well. Ravenclaw, perhaps? No... Gryffindor has its merits too... though something tells me your path lies elsewhere. Yes... yes, best be... SLYTHERIN!”

The word rang out across the Great Hall, and still, it took Al a second before he even registered what had been said. He slid off the stool in a bit of a daze, feeling as though the floor had tilted ever so slightly beneath him.

“Slytherin,” he whispered.

His eyes flew to the Gryffindor table. James had frozen mid-clap, mouth open, brows high. For a heartbeat, it was like staring at a stunned reflection. The Hall had gone very quiet. Whispers buzzed softly like wings in the rafters. 

Then, just ahead, a pale boy stood from the Slytherin table.

Scorpius Malfoy.

He began to clap, deliberate and loud. One or two others followed, and then, with a great scraping of benches, the whole Slytherin table stood to welcome Al. A few students at the other tables began to join in, half-curious, half-impressed.

Al, cheeks hot, made his way toward the table. He’d only just sat down besides Scorpius when a boy a few years older grinned at him.

“A Potter in Slytherin! Bet you didn’t see that one coming!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Higgs,” said a girl with long black braids, jabbing the boy in the ribs. She wore a Slytherin prefect badge and smiled at Al. “Welcome to the best house in Hogwarts. I’m Ebony Hamilton, fifth year prefect. Don’t mind the reputation. You’ll love it here.”

“Thanks,” said Al quietly. “I’m Al. Just Al.”

“All right then, Just Al. I’m Edward Higgs, but everyone calls me Eddie. Except Ebony, of course, who seems to think my last name is far too charming to waste,” he added in a loud whisper, glancing toward the girl. “I’m the not-a-prefect. Nice to meet you.” 

Eddie stuck out his hand and shook Al’s, then stretched and did the same with Scorpius. “If anyone from the other houses gives you trouble, let me know. I’ve got some top-tier jinxes up my sleeve. It’s where I keep my wand.” And then he rolled up his robe’s sleeve to show them it was really held there. 

Scorpius grinned and leaned toward Al, eyes bright. “Cool that we ended up in the same house, right? Hope Riley makes it too… she was next after you, but she’s still up there. You don’t think the Sorting Hat’s broken, do you?”

Al hadn’t even noticed who came up after him. His own Sorting had rattled him enough to fog up the rest. He tried to collect himself, looking back up at the stool and waiting. 

One minute passed… then another.

“No way! She can’t be one of those , can she?” asked a girl further down the table, leaning forward.

“Oh, absolutely she can,” Ebony said matter-of-factly. “But it’s rare . Really rare. Last one I can think of was… maybe ten years ago?”

“More than that! Bet my parents never even saw it happen,” Eddie said, eyes wide.

Al didn’t need to ask what they meant. James had explained it to him loads of times, always with a smug look: “Watch, when it’s your turn, you’ll be a Hatstall.”

“That’s it. Definitely,” Ebony said, checking her wristwatch. “She’s been up there for five minutes and two seconds. That’s officially a Hatstall.”

A Hatstall—Al remembered clearly now—was when the Sorting Hat took more than five minutes to decide which house to place you in.

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat finally bellowed.

As Slytherin’s table erupted with applause, Al and Scorpius got up and joined joyfully. There was stomping, cheering, fists drumming the table.

“She’s ours!” Eddie crowed, climbing up onto the bench. “A Potter and a Hatstall in the same year. Who would’ve guessed!”

Riley walked down the aisle, high-fiving a few students who leaned out as she passed, and stopped beside Al and Scorpius. They made space for her at once.

“I don’t usually pay much attention to the Sorting,” said a fourth-year on their left, grinning, “but I’ve got to admit your year’s turning out to be brilliant. Hope it keeps up.”

“Congrats, Riley,” said Scorpius, clearly pleased.

“Thanks,” she said, a bit breathless. “But honestly, I thought you lot were going to pelt me with Dungbombs or something.”

Al understood the feeling. James always made it seem like being a Hatstall was something embarrassing. And being in Slytherin… well, that was supposed to be worse. He tried not to let his thoughts run off in that direction.

“How long was I up there?” Riley asked.

“Five minutes and seven seconds,” Scorpius replied at once. “What happened?”

“Stupid hat couldn’t decide between Gryffindor and Slytherin,” Riley muttered, then pointed. “Oi—look! Isn’t that Sebbie?”

Scorpius and Al turned to follow her gaze. Sebbie was the last one left, standing stiffly near the stool. She looked so tense she might as well have been petrified. It was another long minute before the Hat cried out:

“SLYTHERIN!”

The three of them jumped up, clapping wildly with the rest of the table as Sebbie, trembling, made her way toward them.

“Did the Hat talk about putting you lot in Hufflepuff too?” she asked as she sat down.

“At first,” Scorpius admitted, looking faintly embarrassed.

“I wouldn’t’ve minded Hufflepuff,” said Riley. “I actually like them more than Gryffindor.”

“Good evening to you all,” the voice rang clear and composed from the staff table, and every head in the Great Hall turned.

There, rising from a golden chair at the very center of the staff table, stood a woman with a striking presence. Her silver-streaked hair was swept back in sharp waves that refused to be anything but orderly. Her robes, dark green with subtle patterns embroidery glinting at the cuffs, gave her the air of someone who had no patience for frills, or foolishness. A single pendant hung at her neck like a seal of office rather than an ornament. Her expression was unreadable, lips pursed and brows drawn just enough to suggest she had already predicted most of your mistakes. She wasn’t tall, exactly, but she stood with the kind of posture that made everyone else feel slightly shorter. 

Her name was Aquila Salazar and no one in the Hall needed telling. She was the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and by the looks of her, not one to cross.