The day was beautiful, the sky clear and vast as the Hogwarts Express rattled along its tracks. The rhythmic chugging of the train reverberated beneath Anne Sallow's feet as she navigated the narrow corridor, searching for a seat. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching motes of dust in the air, giving the moment an almost dreamlike quality.
Finally, she stopped at a compartment, the door slightly ajar. Inside sat a boy, striking in appearance, with dark hair that fell casually over his forehead. His eyes, Anne noticed, were captivating—shifting between a stormy grey and a piercing ice blue. There was a quiet intensity about him, but it was quickly disrupted when his lips curled into a smirk.
"What are you staring at me for, huh?" he said, his tone teasing, yet laced with curiosity.
Anne blinked, caught off guard, and felt her cheeks flush slightly. Without missing a beat, she stepped inside and calmly replied, "I wasn't staring. Just deciding if this seat is worth the company."
The boy raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he gestured to the empty spot across from him. "I'd say it is."
With a small smile of her own, Anne sat down, setting her bag beside her.
Anne opened her mouth to introduce herself, but before she could say a word, the boy's attention shifted back to the book in his hands. Curiosity piqued, she glanced at the cover and immediately recognized it as an advanced text on Transfiguration magic.
Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, and a flicker of frustration sparked within her. Transfiguration had always been her weakest branch of magic. While she was leagues ahead of her peers in other areas—thanks to her knowledge as a reincarnator—this particular discipline seemed to elude her mastery.
Anne crossed her arms, a faint scowl tugging at her lips. It's my right to be all-powerful, she thought. If I'm to live up to my potential, I can't let Transfiguration hold me back.
Anne let out a soft sigh and slouched slightly in her seat. "Of all things, it just had to be Transfiguration," she muttered under her breath, almost forgetting the boy was still across from her.
The boy raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from his book. Anne noticed the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost as if he were suppressing a smirk. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead reached for her bag, fishing out a much simpler book on Charms. At least I don't struggle with this, she thought, cracking it open and trying to ignore the ever-so-slightly smug presence across from her.
Anne opened her own book, a standard text on Charms, and soon found herself absorbed in the familiar spells and theories. Yet, from the corner of her eye, she kept catching glimpses of the boy. His dark hair shifted slightly as he leaned into his book, the light catching his stormy, shifting eyes whenever he glanced up.
She didn't let him out of her sight entirely, though. Being careless in the company of a stranger wasn't a luxury she could afford, not with her secrets. Her fingers idly turned the pages of her book, but her mind stayed alert, her senses tuned to the subtle movements and sounds around her.
After a while, the sound of rattling and muffled voices reached her ears—a disturbance in the corridor. Anne straightened, her lavender eyes flickering to the door as the noise grew louder. Closing her book with a decisive snap, she stood and moved toward the compartment door.
The boy looked up from his reading, raising an eyebrow at her sudden movement. "Checking on something?" he asked casually, but there was a note of curiosity in his voice.
Anne hesitated only briefly before answering. "Just seeing what's going on," she said, her tone measured but calm. Without waiting for a reply, she slid the door open and stepped out into the corridor.
Leaning out of the compartment, Anne's sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar trio—Reinhard Lestrange, Danton Dolohov, and Theodore Nott—standing a few paces down the corridor. Their faces were an ever-changing mix of frustration, amusement, and something resembling fascination.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she strolled over, her footsteps light as she tried to get a better look at what had them so entranced. Her lips twitched into a quiet chuckle when the source of their bewilderment became clear: Rosaline Potter, in the middle of a compartment brimming with an unlikely collection of students.
Inside, Rosaline sat as if holding court, her green eyes sparkling as she talked animatedly. The company included her twin, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and his cronies, and, to Anne's absolute astonishment, Ron Weasley. They were all seated, smiling, and talking politely.
Anne almost stopped breathing for a moment at the sheer absurdity of the scene. Ron's fiery ginger hair was such a stark contrast to Draco's pale blond that the sight alone was enough to short-circuit anyone's senses. Anne took in a deep breath, her hand pressed lightly to her lips to stifle her laugh.
"What did she do to get this group acting so civilly?" Anne murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.
Before she could contemplate further, a soft, almost whispery voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Sallow?"
Anne blinked and turned to see Theodore Nott standing just a step away, his expression guarded but curious. Reinhard and Danton both glanced her way too, their interest piqued.
"Yes?" Anne replied smoothly, arching an eyebrow as if she hadn't just been caught observing.
Theodore smirked faintly, gesturing toward the compartment. "I don't suppose you know what kind of magic that Potter girl is working in there?"
Anne smiled faintly and shrugged. "Charms, perhaps. Or sheer chaos. Hard to say with Rosaline Potter."
Danton chuckled softly at that, while Reinhard's blue eyes narrowed slightly in thought. Theodore gave Anne a look that was equal parts impressed and amused before leaning back against the wall, watching the scene unfold like the rest of them.
Anne and the trio's quiet observation was cut short when they were noticed. Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow, Harry Potter's emerald eyes flicked toward them in curiosity, and Rosaline Potter, ever the composed presence, smiled warmly. Even Ron Weasley turned to look, his expression a mixture of confusion and interest.
Anne stepped forward, her expression calm and polite. "Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter," she greeted, nodding toward Draco and Harry before her gaze swept the compartment. "Miss Potter. Mr. Weasley. And…" she paused, eyeing Draco's usual entourage, "gentlemen."
Rosaline's smile brightened as she leaned forward slightly. "Miss Sallow, isn't it? I think I saw you at Flourish and Blotts over the summer."
Anne inclined her head but didn't get a chance to reply. A hurried voice interrupted from behind her.
"Excuse me," came the breathless voice of a bushy-haired girl with buck teeth as she pushed into the scene. "Have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville lost one."
Nearly a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward her at once, and for a moment, she froze, awkwardness radiating from her. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she realized she'd become the sudden center of attention.
Anne's companion, still lounging behind her, decided to break the silence. "Couldn't you have gone to the prefects?" he quipped sarcastically, his voice low and sharp. Without waiting for a reply, he added, "What's the toad's name?"
"T-Trevor," the girl stammered, still caught off guard by the intense stares.
The boy smirked, pulling out his wand. With a casual flick, his cool, shifting grey-blue eyes glinted with amusement. "Accio Trevor."
A moment later, the toad soared into the compartment, landing neatly in his hand. The girl gasped, clearly impressed, but before she could thank him, the boy handed her the toad with a dry, "You're welcome."
Draco's familiar drawl broke through. "Always showing off, Fawley."
The boy—Fawley, Anne now confirmed—tilted his head lazily toward Draco. A slow, sarcastic grin spread across his face. "Ah, Malfoy. Still the same beacon of joy and optimism, I see."
Draco's pale features tightened in irritation, and he crossed his arms. "It's Heir Malfoy to you, Fawley."
Fawley raised an eyebrow, his smirk only growing. "Ah, forgive me, Heir Malfoy," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock reverence. "How could I possibly forget such an esteemed title?"
The tension between the two boys was palpable, but Fawley's casual demeanor made it clear he was enjoying every second. Anne watched the exchange with quiet amusement, her lavender eyes flickering between them.
Meanwhile, the bushy-haired girl, holding Trevor tightly, stood frozen, unsure whether to stay or flee from the charged atmosphere. Anne decided to step in before things escalated.
"Thank you for assisting Miss…" Anne prompted, glancing at the girl.
"Hermione," the girl answered quickly. "Hermione Granger."
Anne nodded politely. "Miss Granger, I trust Trevor is safe now? Perhaps you should return to your compartment before the train gets too crowded."
Hermione blinked at Anne's composed tone, then nodded hurriedly. "Yes, of course. Thank you!" she said, before scurrying off with Trevor in hand.
As the door slid shut behind her, Rosaline chuckled softly. "I think you just saved her from combusting, Miss Sallow."
Fawley leaned back in his seat, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Well, that was entertaining," he remarked before glancing at Anne. "Shall we go back to our compartment, Miss Sallow? Or are you enjoying the show?"
Anne smiled faintly, tilting her head toward Rosaline and the others. "Enjoying it immensely, but we shouldn't overstay our welcome. Heir Malfoy, Heir Potter, Miss Potter," she said with a polite nod to each before turning to leave.
As she and Fawley walked back to their compartment, she couldn't help but think this year at Hogwarts would be anything but ordinary.
--------------
Back in her compartment, Anne settled into her seat across from her companion. She studied him for a moment, his sharp features illuminated by the soft light filtering through the window. Setting her book aside, she decided to break the silence.
"I never got your name," she said, her tone polite but curious. "I'm Anne Sallow."
The boy looked up from his book, his eyes gleaming with amusement as they met hers. "I know," he replied smoothly, setting his book down with a deliberate slowness. "Karlos Hector Fawley, heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Fawley."
Anne blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the formality of his introduction. His voice carried an air of confidence, as if he were entirely used to the weight of his title.
"Well then, Heir Fawley," she said with a small smile, leaning back in her seat. "It seems I have the privilege of sharing a compartment with someone rather important."
Karlos's smirk deepened. "I could say the same, Miss Sallow. The Sallow name carries its own weight, doesn't it?"
Anne tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "I suppose it does."
Their gazes locked for a moment, and then Karlos picked up his book again, leaving Anne to her thoughts. Despite his arrogance, there was something intriguing about him, something she couldn't quite place.
As Anne sat in quiet contemplation, she finally pieced it together. Karlos Hector Fawley—of course, she had heard of him before. He wasn't just another pure-blood heir; he was the boy genius who had captivated the wizarding world years ago.
Her newspaper, The Pheme, had once covered his story extensively. At the age of only nine, Karlos had authored an extraordinary book on pure-blood traditions, detailing their descent and struggles amidst the evolving dynamics of the magical world. What made his work stand out, however, was not his critique of the status quo but his nuanced perspective.
Unlike many who clung to pure-blood superiority, Karlos's book encouraged curiosity and dialogue. He addressed muggle-borns with a sense of respect, inviting them to understand pure-blood customs while simultaneously challenging pure-bloods to adapt and coexist. It was a fine balance that few could achieve, and his intellectual brilliance had left an impression on Anne even then.
Now, sitting across from him, the realization struck her fully. This wasn't just any boy; this was that boy—enchanting, intriguing, and far too clever for his age. Anne found herself studying him more intently, trying to reconcile the poised, sarcastic teenager in front of her with the precocious child who had written words that sparked change.
She didn't speak her thoughts aloud, though. Instead, she allowed herself a small smile, her mind already sparking with curiosity about this new connection. Karlos Hector Fawley wasn't just interesting—he was someone to watch. Someone who could, perhaps, understand the complexities of the world in a way most others couldn't.
As Anne immersed herself in her book, the compartment was interrupted by the rattling of the trolley cart. The elderly trolley witch leaned down with a kind smile. "Anything from the trolley, dears?"
Anne glanced up, realizing how hungry she was. "A few pumpkin pastries, please," she said politely, pulling out some coins.
Karlos rose from his seat as well, surveying the trolley with evident enthusiasm. "I'll take a bit of everything," he said, his tone cheerful, as he began piling his arms with wizarding candies and treats.
Anne watched him in mild amusement, noting how much he seemed to enjoy the sweets. She had never been one for sugary confections, but she couldn't help but find it intriguing. People with sweet tooths always seemed to have a knack for appreciating life's simple pleasures—perhaps their tastes were more evolved in ways she couldn't understand.
Back in their seats, they ate quietly, the only sound being the occasional rustling of wrappers or the soft turning of pages. Despite the silence, a strange sense of understanding passed between them. Karlos offered her a chocolate frog without a word, and Anne reciprocated by sliding one of her pumpkin pastries his way. No thanks or commentary were exchanged; it was a quiet camaraderie, born out of shared company and unspoken curiosity.
After finishing their snacks, Karlos stood and stretched. "We'll be at Hogwarts soon enough," he remarked, his voice breaking the companionable silence. "You should change."
Anne blinked, then nodded. "Of course, I should. If you could just step out, please? Or do you expect me to go to the washrooms?"
Karlos smirked, his grey-blue eyes glinting with amusement. "No, you can't change here. This is my domain."
Meeting Anne's unimpressed stare he moves covertly, " I was kidding, I'll head to the washrooms." He grabbed his trunk and, with a casual wave, made his way down the corridor.
Anne watched him go, shaking her head slightly. He was an enigma—both charming and infuriating in equal measure.
Anne carefully unbuttoned her white blouse, the fabric soft and finely tailored, featuring delicate lace detailing around the collar and cuffs. It was paired with a high-waisted bead-embroidered skirt that reached just above her ankles, its hem swishing gently as she moved. The ensemble was reminiscent of a Victorian fashion aesthetic, elegant yet practical, chosen with care that morning.
Setting the outfit aside, she pulled on the plain Hogwarts robes, the dark, heavy material settling over her frame. Unlike her usual attire, these robes were utterly utilitarian, billowing and bulky, designed more for tradition than style. The coarse fabric brushed against her skin as she adjusted the fit, their plainness unbroken save for the embroidered Hogwarts crest stitched over her chest.
Her gaze lingered on the crest. Bending her head slightly, she traced a finger over the intricate details, pausing on the eagle representing Ravenclaw. A fleeting thought crossed her mind—what house would she belong to? Anne wasn't one for sentimental musings, but she couldn't deny the twinge of anticipation curling in her chest.
Pushing the thought aside, she let her fingers drop and turned to the window. The rolling countryside blurred past as the train sped on, and for a moment, Anne let herself get lost in the view, the anticipation of Hogwarts beginning to settle into a quiet resolve.
She unlocked the compartment door, hearing the faint shuffle of footsteps before Karlos sauntered back in. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, his expression uncharacteristically startled, as though caught off guard by something.
"Frightened already, Fawley?" Anne teased, raising an eyebrow as she turned from the window.
Karlos shook his head, quickly masking his reaction with his usual smirk. "Hardly," he replied smoothly, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than usual before he crossed the compartment and reclaimed his seat.
Anne didn't comment further, instead returning to her view of the approaching horizon. Despite his nonchalance, she had a feeling Karlos was far more observant than he let on—and perhaps, so was she.
---
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep hues of blue and purple, the Hogwarts Express slowed to a halt at Hogsmeade Station with a final creak. The cool Scottish air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, and the first-year students, including Anne, were filled with nervous excitement as they hurriedly gathered their belongings.
"We have arrived at Hogwarts. Please leave your trunks and owls in the compartments," crackled the voice over the speakers.
The train doors opened, and Anne stepped off, her heart pounding as she set foot onto the cold stone of the station. The first-year students around her stared in awe at the towering landscape, the darkness of the evening only heightening the mystery of the place. There was no grand celebration awaiting them, no banners or welcoming cheers—just the dim glow of lanterns and the soft hum of excited chatter from her peers.
Anne looked around, noting the lack of festive fanfare. The platform seemed strangely quiet, save for the occasional rustling from the Hogwarts students ahead of her. She shivered slightly in the chilly air, but her attention was quickly caught by a familiar booming voice that cut through the stillness.
"First-years! First-years, over here! Come on!"
Anne's gaze was drawn to the massive figure of Hagrid, his thick wild hair and beard unmistakable. He waved them over with an inviting smile.
"Harry! Rosaline! Are you okay, dear? Come here!" he called out, his deep voice carrying across the platform as he beckoned the students forward. His jovial tone offered a sense of warmth, a comforting presence for the anxious first-years.
Anne felt a flutter of nerves as she looked around at the other students, including Reinhard, Danton, Theodore, and Karlos. They were all first-years too, their faces mixed with excitement and a touch of uncertainty. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
As Hagrid directed them towards the waiting boats, Anne joined the group, her eyes widening at the sight of the boats.
Hagrid ushered the first-year students toward the boats, the calm, dark waters of the Black Lake stretching out before them. The boats creaked softly under their weight as each group of four boarded, the gentle rock of the water a stark contrast to the nervous energy in the air.
Anne climbed into a boat, glancing over at the others. She noticed Harry and Rosaline, the Potter twins, settling in with Ron Weasley. To her surprise, Draco Malfoy joined them, the four of them awkwardly positioning themselves as the boat began to float away.
Behind them, Reinhard, Danton, and Theodore boarded another boat. A slightly plump boy, still with baby fat on his cheeks, joined them, looking both excited and a little out of place in the group.
Anne took her seat in the boat with Karlos, the air between them quiet but charged with the unsaid. He gave her a half-smirk as he settled next to her.
The boat slowly began to drift towards the castle, but Anne's attention was diverted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Her eyes flicked up just in time to see a bushy-haired girl with wide, anxious eyes making her way toward their boat.
The girl stopped just short, her gaze flicking from one student to another, as if unsure where to sit. Anne, feeling a little more social than usual, leaned toward her, offering a polite smile.
"Need a seat?" she asked, her voice steady but with a touch of curiosity.
The girl hesitated for a moment, then nodded gratefully, sliding into the seat next to Anne. "Thank you," she said, adjusting her robes with a quiet sigh.
Anne studied her for a moment. The girl's frizzy hair and anxious demeanor were familiar, but it wasn't until she heard the name that everything clicked.
"Hermione Granger, right?" Anne asked, tilting her head slightly.
The girl looked up, startled. "Yes, how did you—?" she began, but was interrupted by Karlos' sarcastic voice from the other side.
"Couldn't you have gone to the prefects for guidance on where to sit?" he quipped, not looking up from his book.
Anne gave him a small, playful nudge. "Really, Fawley?"
Hermione's eyes darted between them, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild confusion. Despite the tension between the students, the boat moved onward, and soon, all of them were caught in the enchantment of Hogwarts Castle looming ahead.
The first years gazed in awe as the Hogwarts Castle came into view, bathed in the soft glow of thousands of lanterns flickering in the cool night air. The majestic silhouette of the castle seemed to rise from the very mountainside, its towering spires and turrets illuminated like a scene from a fairy tale. The enchanted lights twinkled, reflecting off the surface of the Black Lake, creating an ethereal glow that stretched across the water.
As the boats glided toward the shore, the castle's magnificence became even more apparent. The first years were struck by the sheer opulence of it all—high stone walls, intricate carvings, and towering windows that seemed to hold centuries of history. They couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur, their hearts pounding with excitement and anticipation.
Hagrid, ever the towering figure, suddenly shouted, "Duck!" as they neared a low bridge. His massive frame was the only one tall enough to require such a command, and he ducked under it with ease, unaware that the first years could pass beneath it without a problem. A few of them giggled nervously, relieved to not have to follow Hagrid's lead.
Once safely ashore, the first years scrambled to disembark and, in a long, orderly file, made their way toward the towering oak doors of Hogwarts. They could hear the murmurs of awe and excitement as they approached, the weight of the moment settling upon them. The door, heavy and ancient, creaked open, revealing a dark silhouette standing in the entrance.
A green-robed witch with a pointed hat and an expression of quiet authority stepped forward to greet them. Professor McGonagall's eyes flicked over the students with a discerning gaze as she prepared to welcome them to Hogwarts.
Hagrid, never one to pass up a grand entrance, presented the first years with a flourish, his deep voice booming as he announced, "Professor McGonagall, here they are!"
The witch gave a nod, her face serious yet not unkind. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, her voice cutting through the night air. "Follow me.
Professor McGonagall led the first years through the grand entrance hall, her footsteps echoing on the stone floors. As they moved further inside, the students couldn't help but gaze in wonder at the moving portraits adorning the walls, their eyes following the group as they passed. The sound of chatter from older students drifted through the air, the buzz of excited voices waiting behind the massive doors to the Great Hall, where the feast would soon begin.
The sheer size of the chamber, the height of the ceilings, and the glow from the enchanted torches on the walls were all almost too much to take in at once. It was as if the castle itself breathed with magic, and every corner held a new mystery.
Professor McGonagall, her stern eyes never leaving the group, stopped them in front of the doors to the Great Hall. With a sharp glance, she leveled them all with a look that commanded attention.
"First years," she began in her no-nonsense tone, "you will be sorted into your houses shortly. But before you do, there are a few things you must understand. You must all smarten yourselves up, no fidgeting, no chattering, and certainly no drawing attention to yourselves. This is Hogwarts, and here we expect discipline and respect."
Her gaze lingered for a moment on Neville Longbottom, who was nervously tugging at his collar, clearly trying to follow her instructions but feeling out of his depth. His round face flushed a shade of pink as Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look, a silent acknowledgment of his earlier anxiousness. Anne, glancing at Neville, couldn't help but notice the slight pudginess of his face. He seemed to have the heart of a lion, though, and she could feel the bravery within him.
"Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall continued, her voice unyielding, "you will need to work on your confidence. You must stand tall. No more slouching."
The tension in the air was palpable as the first years absorbed the weight of her words. Anne, however, was already beginning to feel a sense of belonging. There was something comforting about the way Hogwarts had an air of order amidst all the chaos.
"Now, stay quiet and wait for your moment," McGonagall said, her tone softening just a fraction. "I'll be back in a moment to escort you to your sorting ceremony. Until then, please make yourselves comfortable."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving the first years to fidget nervously in the corridor, their excitement and anxiety mixing as they waited.
Just as the first years began to settle into the quiet anticipation of their sorting ceremony, a sudden gasp echoed through the chamber. The group froze, turning in the direction of the sound, their eyes widening in unison.
Before them, the air seemed to shimmer, and then, as if materializing from the very walls themselves, the fleeting figures of Hogwarts' ghosts appeared. They drifted gracefully through the air, their ethereal forms barely visible, yet unmistakable.
The ghostly figures moved with a fluidity that was both unnerving and captivating, as they materialized near the group, their translucent shapes flickering in the candlelight. The first years, startled and in awe, stepped back as they tried to comprehend what they were seeing.
One of the ghosts, a tall, gaunt figure dressed in old-fashioned robes with a large, pointed hat, was floating near the ceiling, his face serious but friendly. The students recognized him immediately.
"Nearly Headless Nick!" whispered one of the boys in awe, his voice trembling with excitement.
The ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, gave them a cheerful wave, his ghostly features breaking into a smile. He hovered for a moment, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "Ah, fresh faces! Welcome to Hogwarts," he said in a voice that was strangely soothing, despite the otherworldly quality. "Don't worry, you'll get used to us," he added with a grin, his head bobbing slightly in an odd manner, as if it might fall at any moment.
The sight of the ghostly head nearly detaching from his body sent a chill down Anne's spine, though she couldn't help but marvel at the strange but welcoming nature of the apparition.
Not far behind him floated another figure—a more jovial ghost with a round, plump face and a penchant for flamboyant attire. He hovered beside Sir Nicholas, grinning widely at the students.
"Welcome, first years! I trust you're excited," said the Fat Friar, his booming voice carrying through the air like the sound of distant bells. "Don't be alarmed, I'm harmless, I assure you! But do mind the other ghosts, we can be a rather... lively bunch."
Anne couldn't help but smile at the unusual display before her. The presence of the ghosts only added to the enchantment of Hogwarts, and she knew that this was just the beginning of the wonders that awaited her at this extraordinary school.
As Professor McGonagall returned to lead the first years into the Great Hall, the students were still recovering from their encounter with the ghosts. Their excitement and awe grew tenfold as they stepped into the heart of Hogwarts—the Great Hall.
The room was nothing short of breathtaking. The moment they entered, the sheer size of it took their breath away. The high ceiling stretched far above them, beyond what seemed possible, adorned with enchanted candles that floated in mid-air, casting a warm, flickering light across the entire room. The walls were lined with windows, but there was something entirely magical about them. As Anne gazed up, she saw not the stone sky of the Scottish Highlands, but the deep blue night, dotted with thousands of stars, as if the very sky itself had been transported indoors. The soft twinkling of the stars above made the air feel alive, humming with magic.
The long tables, laden with plates and goblets, were placed in neat rows beneath the floating candles. The silverware shone in the dim light, reflecting the glow of the enchanted ceiling. It was as though the stars above had come to rest inside the Great Hall, shimmering down on the students, making the room feel like an enchanted garden under a velvet sky.
The air was thick with the buzz of chatter from the older students, already seated and eagerly eyeing the first years as they made their way to the front. Anne could hear the murmur of excitement echoing through the hall, but the grandeur of the place, the pure magical essence of Hogwarts, seemed to silence everything else. It was like stepping into a living dream.
As Anne soaked in the spectacle, her thoughts were interrupted by a soft whisper that seemed to come from behind her, from the direction of the group she was walking with.
"It's enchanted to look like the real sky," a familiar voice murmured. "I read it in Hogwarts history."
Anne turned slightly, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the voice. It was Karlos Hector Fawley, who, like her, was still marveling at the beauty of the Hall. His voice was quiet, but his eyes shone with the same sense of wonder she felt inside.
She glanced upward again, the ceiling's magic more profound than ever as the stars seemed to glimmer just for them. The castle, alive with its own history and magic, seemed to vibrate with energy, and Anne could almost feel the pulse of centuries of stories and spells woven into the very walls around them.
Her stupor was quickly broken by the authoritative clearing of Professor McGonagall's throat. Holding a thick roll of parchment in her hands, the professor's voice rang through the hall, cutting through the silence with a single command.
"First years," she began, her tone firm and no-nonsense. "Please gather here. We shall begin the sorting ceremony."
The first years snapped to attention, the gravity of the moment sinking in. Anne's heartbeat quickened, her earlier awe replaced with anticipation as she joined the others at the front of the hall. All eyes were on them now, and the air was thick with expectation.
The moment Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the creaky old stool, the room fell into an expectant silence. The Sorting Hat, with its frayed edges and worn appearance, seemed almost alive as it slowly began to open its brim. The flicker of movement from within sent a shiver down Anne's spine, as she knew this was the moment that would determine her fate at Hogwarts.
Then, with a loud, raspy voice, the hat began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge me by my size,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
And I tell no lies.
Though I may seem rather worn and torn,
I'm wise and sharp of mind,
I'll sort you where you belong,
So be patient, give me time."
The song echoed through the hall, drawing amused chuckles from some of the older students and nervous giggles from the first years. But as it ended, the Hat fell silent, awaiting the sorting to begin.
Professor McGonagall unfurled her parchment and began to read the names off one by one. The first was Abbot Hannah, who was promptly sorted into Hufflepuff. A wave of murmurs passed through the crowd as the name of Bones Susanne followed, and she too was sorted into Hufflepuff. The sorting continued, the names called out one after another: Boot Terry to Ravenclaw, Brocklehurst Mandy to Ravenclaw, and then the first Gryffindor of the night, Brown Lavender.
As the names continued, Anne's mind wandered for a brief moment, taking in the vast array of students being sorted, until she heard the next name, Dolohov Danton.
The room grew quiet for a brief second, whispers fluttering through the air like soft winds. Anne's attention snapped to him. Danton Dolohov—the name carried weight, and she could sense the uneasy stirrings in the room. His family, infamous for their ties to the Dark Lord, had already caused hushed murmurs. With a sly, determined look, Danton stepped forward, and the Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted, Slytherin.
As the Sorting continued, "Fawley Karlos" was called. Karlos strode confidently up to the stool, his posture unbothered as the Hat barely grazed his hair before hesitating. A murmur spread through the hall, all eyes on him as the Sorting Hat seemed to deliberate. For a long moment Karlos sat there, looking completely unfazed , seemingly amused by the internal deliberation of the hat. Anne could see his lips twitching, a sif he was having an actual conversation with the enchanted Hat . After a tense pause, it finally declared "Ravenclaw!"
The Ravenclaw table erupted into applause, and Karlos walked over with a satisfied smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. It wasn't common for the Sorting Hat to stall for so long, and the students seemed intrigued by the boy who had managed to impress the Hat so much. The whispers followed him as he took his seat, his posture still unflinching.
Next, "Finch-Fletchley Justin" was sorted into Hufflepuff, and then "Seamus Finnegan" into Gryffindor, followed by "Granger Hermione", who was also placed in Gryffindor with a brief hesitation.
Then came the name "Lestrange Reinhard". The air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second as the name hung in the air. There were hushed gasps and whispers, and Anne couldn't help but notice the way Reinhard's surname lingered in the room, invoking memories of his infamous aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix, a notorious figure in the wizarding world, whose dark legacy was well-known even among the first-years. Reinhard, however, held his head high, seemingly unfazed by the weight of his family name.
He sat on the stool with a quiet confidence, meeting the Hat's gaze as though daring it to make a decision. The Hat took barely a moment before shouting "Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table erupted in applause, but the atmosphere was charged with curiosity and a little apprehension. Bellatrix's legacy loomed large in the minds of many, and though Reinhard was clearly his own person, there would always be whispers about his family. He walked to the Slytherin table with the same unflappable demeanor, joining the others with a slight nod, not at all perturbed by the murmurs that followed him.
As the Sorting Ceremony continued, the name "Longbottom Neville" was called. The young boy, looking a bit nervous, walked up to the stool. His eyes flickered between the Hat and the other first-years before it finally called out "Gryffindor!" The Gryffindor table cheered loudly as Neville's face lit up with both relief and excitement, and he joined the group with a wide smile.
Next, "MacDougall Morag" was called. Anne, distracted by the murmurs from the Gryffindor table, barely caught the sorting. She felt the weight of an upperclassman's gaze—a boy with messy black hair and a leer that sent a shiver down her spine. It made her uneasy, and for a moment, she didn't even hear which house Morag was sorted into.
Then came the name "Malfoy Draco." Anne barely had time to breathe as the entire hall seemed to hold its collective breath. Draco Malfoy walked up to the stool with an air of superiority, his pale blonde hair slicked back and his nose raised slightly. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted "Slytherin!" The Slytherin table erupted in applause, and Draco made his way to the table with a smug expression.
The next few names passed quickly as "Moon" was sorted into Ravenclaw, and "Nott Theodore" was quietly placed into Slytherin, though his presence was barely noticed by the room. "Parkinson Pansy" was called, and the Hat immediately chose Slytherin for her as well, followed by the "Patil Padma" who was sorted into Ravenclaw. Her twin sister "Parvati Patil" followed shortly, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table, where she received an enthusiastic welcome. Lastly, "Perks Sally Anne" was called and placed into Hufflepuff with a smile from Professor McGonagall.
The Sorting was almost complete, and Anne was eager to see who would be next. She had a sense that things were about to take a turn as the ceremony continued.
The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement as "Potter Harry" was called next. The entire room leaned forward in anticipation, their eyes fixed on the boy who was known as "the Boy Who Lived." Anne could feel the weight of the moment. The Sorting Hat seemed to take its time, but it finally called out, "Gryffindor!" The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, their voices louder than any other house's. The Weasley twins, ever the pranksters, were nearly on their feet, shouting excitedly, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" It was clear that the Gryffindors were more than thrilled with their new addition.
Next, it was "Potter Rosaline"'s turn. Anne's heart skipped a beat. The room fell silent, the weight of her name pulling every eye toward her. Rosaline stood confidently, walking up to the stool without hesitation. The Hat barely touched her head before it seemed to ponder for a longer moment. A gasp rippled through the hall before the Hat shouted, "Slytherin!"
The silence that followed was palpable. The Slytherin table clapped, but it was polite applause—neither enthusiastic nor cold. It was as if they, too, were taken aback by the sorting. Anne couldn't help but glance at Professor Snape, whose eyes narrowed as they fixed on Rosaline. The glint of disdain in his expression was impossible to miss, but there was something else—something buried beneath that icy gaze.
For a fleeting second, Anne saw something almost tender in Snape's face, something that could have been a flicker of nostalgia, or perhaps even recognition. It passed quickly, but Anne knew that there was a deep history between the Potters and the Potioneer.
Even at the head table, the professors exchanged looks, murmurs passing between them. Anne could sense that many were surprised by the sorting, especially when it came to a child of Lily Potter, who had once been so beloved by many in the Wizarding World. Rosaline's sorting into Slytherin, the very house that had seen the rise of dark wizards, was a symbol of the complexity of her heritage—a tension that would surely follow her throughout her time at Hogwarts.
As Rosaline made her way to the Slytherin table, Anne could feel the weight of the room's gaze upon her. She was a Potter, but she was also something more—something that both intrigued and unnerved those who were watching.
The murmurs rippled through the hall as "Sallow Anne" was called. There was an immediate recognition from both students and professors alike. The name Sallow was synonymous with the ancient and proud family, and Anne was known not only for being the last of the Sallow line but also for her intelligence and her recent entrepreneurial success with The Pheme, the wizarding world's new, cutting-edge newspaper.
Anne walked up to the stool with her usual calm, her steps measured and poised. She sat gracefully, as the Hat was placed atop her head. The Hall fell into an expectant silence, watching as the Sorting Hat whispered to Anne, almost as if conversing privately with her.
"Oh, Sallow, it's been years since I last sorted one," the Hat muttered. "You're quite like your great-grandmother, Phoebe. She was quite like you. A curious girl, indeed. However, she had something you didn't. You're different. Same, but different. She was more ambitious. You lean more toward the knowledgeable kind—someone who seeks knowledge extensively."
Anne, now aware of the Hat's commentary, couldn't help but smile softly at the mention of her great-grandmother, Phoebe.
"Well, she and I are different," Anne responded softly, her voice barely audible to the Hat, though she could feel its ancient wisdom listening carefully.
"Well, not as much as you think," the Hat mused, "Still, you are unique in your own way, Sallow."
The Hat paused, considering her in its age-old way. The silence was palpable as it weighed Anne's attributes: her curiosity, her intelligence, her desire for understanding. It was clear that she had inherited much from her great-grandmother, but there was something distinctly her own, something that couldn't be easily categorized.
"Ravenclaw!" the Hat finally shouted, its voice echoing through the Hall. The Ravenclaw table erupted into applause and cheers, a few students standing to welcome their new housemate with smiles and open arms. Anne gave them a gracious nod, her lips curving slightly as she glanced towards Karlos, her companion from the train, who was smiling brightly at her from across the room.
Her heart warmed at the sight of Karlos, and she made her way to the Ravenclaw table with quiet confidence, already feeling the weight of the house's expectations and the immense pride that came with it. But there was also something else—something more subtle in the air, a sense of belonging that filled the space around her.
As she sat down, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, absorbing the magic of Hogwarts that hummed beneath her feet, in her veins, and all around her. Ravenclaw had claimed her, and she was ready to begin her journey.
-------
As Anne settled into her seat at the Ravenclaw table, taking in the surrounding chatter and the excited energy from her fellow housemates, a voice suddenly addressed her from the seat beside her. She looked up to find a third- or fourth-year girl with brown hair and bright brown eyes, her smile warm but tinged with curiosity.
"Welcome to the house," the girl said with a friendly but somewhat measured tone. "I'm Penelope." Her gaze shifted, her expression becoming more thoughtful as she continued, "You… I've heard a lot about you. Heard that you're the famous entrepreneur, the genius, the little child who all the parents talk about in the pureblood circles nowadays."
Anne raised an eyebrow, surprised but not entirely unaccustomed to being spoken about in such a manner. It was true that The Pheme had gained quite the reputation, and she had made waves with her business ventures at a young age. But being talked about in the same breath as her success felt… strange, almost overwhelming.
"I suppose that's one way to put it," Anne replied with a modest but knowing smile, meeting Penelope's eyes. She wasn't one to boast about her achievements, but neither was she ashamed of them. She had worked hard to get here, and she wouldn't let anyone's perception of her diminish her pride. "But I prefer to think of myself simply as a student here, just like everyone else."
Penelope laughed softly, leaning back in her seat as she glanced at the others around the table. "Of course, of course. But I must admit, there's a lot of curiosity about you. The Sallow name carries weight, you know. People are eager to see what you'll do next."
Anne felt a flicker of unease at the mention of her family name. The Sallow legacy was both a blessing and a burden. People often expected great things from her, but she also knew that such expectations could come with their own kind of pressure. She gave a small nod, her smile never faltering.
"Well, I'm just here to learn," she said, though she knew the weight of those words would carry more meaning as time went on. The path she was about to walk was one of discovery, both in the magical world and within herself.
Penelope seemed to sense Anne's quiet contemplation, and she gently changed the subject. "So, you're in Ravenclaw now. I'm sure you'll fit in just fine. We value intellect and curiosity here, and from what I hear, you're practically overflowing with both."
Anne appreciated the compliment, her eyes scanning the bustling table filled with eager and curious students. She was beginning to see the truth in Penelope's words. There was something uniquely fulfilling about being surrounded by those who valued knowledge above all else.
As Anne sat at the Ravenclaw table, listening to the hum of conversation around her, the noise slowly dwindled to a hush as the enormous doors at the front of the Great Hall swung open. All eyes turned toward the head table, where Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood, his long silver beard flowing majestically, his half-moon glasses perched delicately on his nose. His eyes twinkled behind those glasses as he surveyed the gathered students, a warm smile spreading across his face.
"Welcome!" His voice rang out, clear and commanding yet filled with kindness. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin the feast, I would like to say a few words."
Anne, like all the first-years, leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on Dumbledore as he spoke. Despite the grandeur of the castle and the magical atmosphere of the evening, she couldn't help but be drawn to the aura of wisdom and power surrounding the man before them. He had a way of speaking that made everyone feel as though they were the most important person in the room.
"First, welcome to the new students who have joined us this year," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping over the first-years with a knowing smile. "I trust that you are all settling in, finding your way around, and adjusting to the unique… quirks of our beloved school. I am sure that in no time at all, you will be feeling quite at home."
There was a warm chuckle from the staff and students, and Anne's heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and nerves. She had only just begun her journey here, and though she'd already encountered so many interesting people and places, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more waiting to be discovered.
"Now, as many of you know," Dumbledore went on, "Hogwarts is a place full of mystery and magic. But it is also a place where we foster the most important trait of all: the pursuit of knowledge. This is a school where we encourage the brightest minds, the boldest ideas, and the bravest hearts. It is a place where you will be challenged, where you will grow, and yes, where you will make mistakes. But never forget that the greatest learning often comes from those very mistakes."
Anne's mind caught on those words—the greatest learning comes from mistakes. It was a concept she had grappled with before. She had always been an achiever, someone who prided herself on success. But there was something liberating about the idea of embracing failure, of seeing it as a stepping stone instead of a stumbling block.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he continued. "Now, a few reminders for all of you. First, the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students. Second, the caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that the list of forbidden items can be found on the noticeboard in the main hall. I strongly suggest you avoid them." There was a small pause, followed by a faint twinkle in his eye. "And finally, as always, I remind you to enjoy the feast and take the opportunity to get to know your fellow students, both new and old."
With that, he gave the students a final smile and nodded to the staff.
"Now, let us eat!" Dumbledore declared, and the plates in front of them instantly filled with an abundance of food—roast meats, vegetables, bread, and desserts, all appearing as if by magic.
Anne's gaze lingered on Dumbledore for a moment longer, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over her. He was a man of wisdom, someone who knew how to guide people without stifling their potential. As the chatter around her grew louder with students digging into their meals, Anne felt a sense of belonging here.
As the feast continued, Anne couldn't help but observe the hearty meal before her, piled high with rich, greasy British fare. She poked at the shepherd's pie, nodding approvingly at the familiar dish, though the rest of the food seemed to lack the vibrant spices she was accustomed to. The food was bland by comparison to what her soul had known in her past life as an Indian. Her taste buds were attuned to the boldness of curry, the richness of spices, and the intricate balance of flavors that her previous self had loved. But here, the food was heavy with grease, its flavor barely touched by the subtle seasoning.
She picked at a few more dishes, but she felt an undercurrent of dissatisfaction creeping in. However, her hunger was sated by the familiarity of the shepherd's pie.
Leaning slightly toward Penelope, she broke her silence and asked, "Could you give me a quick rundown of the teachers here? I know a little, but it'd be good to know what to expect."
Penelope, looking delighted by the request, straightened up and immediately launched into an elaborate explanation, "Of course! Well, we have Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor and Transfiguration professor. She's strict, but she's fair, and her lessons are actually quite fascinating if you pay attention. Then there's Professor Flitwick, who's the head of Ravenclaw. He's one of the kindest professors, and he teaches Charms. He's small but sprightly—quite sprightly!"
Anne couldn't help but smile at Penelope's enthusiasm. Penelope continued with excitement, sharing details about each professor in turn—Professor Snape, who she described as "extremely intimidating but brilliant," and Professor Sprout, who was "very motherly, but don't get on her bad side if you value your life." Anne listened intently, gathering the pieces of information that would help her navigate Hogwarts more effectively.
When Penelope paused for a breath, Anne asked, "So, any juicy rumors?"
Penelope leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, I heard that Professor Snape has a special interest in students with a talent for potions. Not just anyone, mind you, but he seems to favor certain people. And, there's some talk about Professor Binns—nobody really listens to him, and some students swear he's a ghost, not just because of his dull lectures but because he's actually dead! Oh, and there's a rumor about the Forbidden Forest, that there's some dark creature hiding there, but that's just a rumor—don't take it too seriously."
Anne raised an eyebrow at some of the gossip but took it all in. When she asked about the truth behind the rumors, Penelope just flashed her shiny prefect badge with a proud smile. "I might not be a headgirl yet, but I've heard enough to know a thing or two. And the badge helps with access to some inside info."
Anne was taken aback for a moment, realizing Penelope wasn't a third year like she assumed but a fifth-year student. That explained the mature and confident way she carried herself. Penelope was no ordinary student—she was already well-established in the school, and Anne began to put together the puzzle pieces.
It clicked, and Anne suddenly realized who Penelope was—Penelope Clearwater, future Head Girl, and future girlfriend of Percy Weasley. This was the same Penelope who would later become caught sneaking about with her boyfriend by his brothers.
As Penelope continued chatting about Hogwarts life, Anne absorbed the information, knowing that this would be a valuable friendship.
As Anne continued to pick at her meal, lost in conversation with Penelope, she suddenly felt the familiar, haughty presence of Karlos near her. His tall frame leaned down at the table, casting a shadow over her. She looked up to find his confident smirk already in place.
"Hey," Karlos said, his voice low but playful, "I saved a seat for you, so why are you sitting so far away from me?" He casually leaned in, resting his elbow on the table as he gazed at her with a somewhat teasing glint in his eyes.
Anne raised an eyebrow at him but didn't immediately answer. Instead, she asked, "Done with dinner already?"
Karlos shrugged nonchalantly, eyes flicking toward the dessert table. "Not really, there's still dessert left."
"Then why are you here?" Anne asked, amusement lacing her voice.
Karlos leaned even closer, almost whispering, his smirk widening. "Well, asking you a question, obviously. If you didn't hear it the first time."
Anne tilted her head, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't think you would be saving it for me. And how were you even sure I would land in Ravenclaw?"
He straightened up slightly, his posture both confident and comfortable as he looked at her with an almost knowing expression. "I just knew," he replied casually. "Why couldn't I? You had that gaze, one of Ravenclaw, and I knew we were destined to be together."
Anne blinked, surprised by his boldness but also, admittedly, intrigued. The way he spoke was so certain, as if he had already decided their futures long before either of them had ever set foot at Hogwarts. She couldn't help but laugh softly at his confidence.
"Destined to be together, huh?" she muttered, glancing over at Penelope, who was giving Karlos a curious look. Anne returned her gaze to Karlos, her lips curving into a playful smirk. "We'll see about that, won't we?"
Karlos grinned, clearly unphased by her teasing. "Of course, we will. But you can't deny that Ravenclaw was the perfect fit for you. Besides," he added with a wink, "I was right, wasn't I?"
Anne couldn't help but shake her head, the amusement lingering in her eyes as she turned back to her meal. "We'll see," she echoed, a quiet challenge in her voice.
As Karlos walked back to his seat, his confident strides not missing a beat, Penelope leaned in slightly, a curious glint in her eye. "Who was he?" she asked, her tone light but intrigued. "He was quite handsome. Charming lad. Won't be long before he's famous with the witches."
Anne glanced over at Karlos as he settled into his chair, still watching him with a hint of amusement before turning back to Penelope. "That's Karlos," she said, her voice even but tinged with a touch of something else. "We met on the train. Really smart boy. I think I found my rival in academics. First day."
Penelope raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile forming on her lips. "Well, good luck with that boy. Seems to be a bit much," she said with a quiet laugh. "But he's funny."
Anne chuckled softly, the edges of her lips turning upward. "Yeah, he has a way of making things... interesting," she remarked, her thoughts drifting briefly back to their earlier conversation. It wasn't just his confidence that set him apart. It was something more—something she hadn't fully figured out yet.
Penelope gave Anne a sympathetic look, as if understanding that Karlos might be a challenge in more ways than one. "I'll say," she agreed. "But I guess that's part of the fun, right?"
Anne nodded slowly, her mind already shifting back to the atmosphere of the feast, her fellow students, and the journey that had only just begun. "Yeah," she replied with a quiet smile, "I suppose so."
As the grand feast came to a close, Dumbledore stood, his voice echoing through the hall as he gestured to the students. "Now, let us sing the Hogwarts song, everyone!" he declared, and the entire hall erupted into a spirited rendition of the familiar tune:
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy, Wotty, Hogwarts,
Teach us something, please!"
The students sang with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but it was the Weasley twins who stole the show, their voices exuberantly leading the last line in an unexpected and chaotic rendition of the Old Funeral March, sending ripples of laughter through the hall.
Dumbledore chuckled softly, the twinkle in his eyes undimmed by the playful disruption. "Ah, music, very pleasing indeed," he said with a smile. "Now, off to bed, everyone. Prefects, please escort the new first years to their dormitories. Okay, everyone, good night. Have a great day tomorrow, and remember—wake up early. We don't want any detentions on the first day."
The students slowly began to file out, their chatter filling the room as they followed the prefects towards their respective houses. Anne, along with the other first-years, found herself in line behind Penelope, who led the group with a quiet sense of authority.
As Anne glanced around the hall one last time, the castle seemed to hum with a kind of ancient magic, and she felt the weight of her destiny beginning to settle in. There was so much to learn, so many challenges ahead, but for the first time since her arrival, she felt a strange sense of belonging.
The prefects guided them through the winding corridors, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night, and soon enough, Anne found herself standing in front of the large door that would lead her into the Ravenclaw common room.
"Well," Penelope said with a warm smile, "welcome to Ravenclaw, Anne. Get some rest—you'll need it tomorrow."
Anne nodded, her thoughts swirling with excitement and uncertainty as she stepped into the common room, ready to face whatever the new day would bring.