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The castle had always faced extraordinary challenges: from spiders being hatched in cupboards, to basilisks being freed in underground chambers. After The Battle, the building did what it always had in times of crisis. It withstood. As well as it could, anyway. Repairs to the school had taken nineteen years in total, although the school never closed -- the most immediate repairs to the school had only taken a month, as there was an influx of volunteers who came in after hearing about Lord Voldemort's death.

With all major damage done quickly patched over, Headmistress McGonagall spent the next nineteen years securing the school, making sure that should it ever be attacked again, it would be nigh impervious. With the repairs came renovations. Improvements.

Eventually, McGonagall had stepped down. Retiring in 2015, it fell to the new Headmistress, Kallistos Ourania, to oversee the tail-end of the renovations her predecessor had whisked into motion.

The wizarding world had, since the end of the war, become a quieter, more peaceful place. An age of prosperity, some called it, as more and more Death Eaters were imprisoned, pardoned, or forced into hiding. At least in the wizarding world, at least for the moment, good had won.

The world had become a better place.

As dark swallowed up the last scatterings of dusk, the Hogwarts Express was on its last stretch. Having torn through miles of plains, forests, and valleys since it's departure it hadn't slowed at all. And, although it was undetectable by Muggles, to the children aboard, the Express' noise was very real.

Even in the melancholy stillness of the autumn night, the train roared on, a thick bellow of white steam trailing behind the stacks as the train surged on. The tracks echoed - the rattling the only disturbance in an otherwise silent forest. The sky had long since been covered in shades of black and blue, and the last bit of warm sunlight was now beginning to creep past the horizon.

Stars shone brightly in the sky, as if the inhabitants of the train were entering an entirely new world. They had, of course; it was quaint of the stars to notice their transcendence into the wizarding world. The sky was free and clear of man's influence. The only things that blocked the starlight shimmering along the train's windows perhaps the occasional owl in the night. The train was alone in the darkness, like the last ember of a campfire in the night -- the train's windows shone brightly with a warm orange glow, and sounds of laughter and mirth echoed through the silent forest's valleys and caves.

Inside the train, a variable army of adolescents bounced about their chosen compartments. Trays of teas, cakes, and candies passed up and down the Express' warm corridors. With the release of the new Harry Potter, The Chosen One series of cards, Chocolate Frogs were experiencing a surge in popularity. Though most students were nestled away in small rooms of the train, loathe to move, those who were on the way to the privy or moving to another compartment might find themselves dealing with a chocolate rainforest's worth of Chocolate Frogs.

Few of the students would sleep that night, blaming it on either sugar rushes or excitement, while both were perfectly likely culprits. Although it experienced no absolute pause in the buzz of excitement, the further into the night more compartment lights had dimmed, most of the chocolate frogs had escaped, and trays of food traveling through the hall were less and less frequent. The Hogwarts Express itself seemed to have dimmed as well, its pace increasingly languid as the few students that could find sleep began to close their curtains one by one.

Eventually, the train slowed to a halt, and the students were let off. The cold first years shivered in the brisk air, clinging to each other in the nearly impenetrable darkness.

The students were led to a long stretch of wooden docks, where dozens of rowboats were tied. The boats brought the tired children in groups of three at a time, to a place that would become their second home. Hogwarts.

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"Ravenclaw!" the Hat shouted triumphantly. As with every sorting, three long tables cheered out of politeness, and one out of joy. The Great Hall's ceilings were enchanted to look like the night sky above, and so it appeared that the magnificent candles that floated above would sometimes flicker in the cool nighttime air. The walls were made from magnificent slabs of grey stone, with portraits and tapestries hung all around. No trace of the battle that had once left the building torn asunder.

"Susan Burnes." As Headmistress Ouranea spoke, the over-sized purple cubes danging from her ears shook. Her voice was magically amplified, resonating even in the furthest reaches of the Great Hall. As the Headmistress adjusted the comically large scroll she was reading from, a young girl with sandy brown pigtails walked up to the stool that was situated at the front of the Great Hall, just in front of the row of seats taken by the professors.

She sat down, and the Hat was gently placed on her head. It grumbled, nodding at a silent conversation it was having with the girl.

"Yes," the Hat nodded in approval. "Gryffindor!" It roared, being plucked from the girl's head. The girl, Susan Burnes, who merrily skipped to the table decorated in gold and red.

Headmistress Ouranea paused as she examined the scroll, deciphering the name's origin and subsequent pronunciation. "Iorweth Caradog," she said smoothly, confident in her pronunciation.

A skinny, sallow boy took his seat, and began to kick his legs back and forth lightly. The Hat was brought down once more, and was finished with its decision by the time the professor holding it began to let go. "Hufflepuff!" The quick decision was met with by snickers at the Slytherin table and cheers from the Hufflepuffs.

Slowly, Ouranea made her way through the C surnames, then began to make her way through the D surnames.

"Cecile Delacroix" She said, as a young boy with jet black hair took his seat in the stool. He sat, and as per usual, the hat took a moment to grumble to itself. However, this time was different. After the initial fifteen seconds of silence from the hat, some of the conversations had died down. Another fifteen seconds passed, and the room was actually quiet. The hat was deep in concentration, squinting as if staring at a very hard math problem. At long last, it roared it's answer.

"Gryffindor!"

Gryffindor's table cheered more loudly than usual, and the boy was sent on his way.

"Geneviève Dejardin." The Headmistress said dryly, looking over her reading glasses.

A pale lightly freckled girl seemed to dart back into focus before making her way over to the Sorting Hat. Eyes sparkling with curiosity, she actually lifted an arm as if to run her dainty fingers along the edge of the gruff hat's rim, before a particular look from both the headmistress and the item itself gave her the impression that, that was probably something she should not do. With her expression falling a bit in disappointment, she carefully sat herself down with her hands placed neatly on her lap.

The Hat was placed on her head for a moment, before it began to nod, grumbling sternly. "Slytherin!"

Without so much as a pause, the redhead stood up from the stool with a peculiar look of interest as she headed towards the loudly applauding table lined with the colors green and silver. She hardly even noticed that, though they were doing their best, the hoots and hollers from this particular table could do nothing to match the calls around it... The amount of people seated there was just too small.

The sorting continued, through every single D surname, through E, and finally onto the F names.

"Victoria Faulkner."

A short, pale girl with silver hair and a truly remarkable pout on her face (in light of the jubilation all around her) approached the stool, looking around with an almost bored expression of patience for the Sorting Hat. Whether it was genuine or artificially produced, the large crowd that sat before the three most important people (for the moment) and everything seemed to still as the headmistress sized the ghostly girl up with her own bespectacled eyes.

With little to no warning, the Hat was plopped on the girl's head quick enough to give her a bit of a start. As wary as any hat can be, its folds cautiously opened to speak, but paused as if it had been told something irredeemably disrespectful. Moving itself in such a way as to imitate someone shaking their head in disdain, the Hat finally spoke in response to what surely were the girl's thoughts. "No, no. Certainly not." it hissed, beginning to disregard the deep frown that the child had set on her face. "It's final. Gryffindor."

The girl's expression quickly became one of disbelief and offense. Perhaps it wasn't the house she wanted, perhaps she was simply put off by what should be an inanimate object disregarding anything had thought and announced her house without proper consultation; either way, she stood, and was waved toward the Gryffindor table. She sat down without any ceremony, but still couldn't escape the wild boats of praise and excitement coming from the people around her.

"Rory Fisher." Oureana said, her cool yet somehow comforting eyes looking upon the group of to-be first years as if she had somehow found him without yet knowing who he was or what he even looked like. The rest of the students who had attended Hogwarts for a few years already guessed that, somehow, she probably did.

Amidst the bodies, one thin young boy managed to wrangle himself out to the front and wavered for a moment as if he hadn't realized how easy it would be to get out of that mass. Lightly brushing his somewhat wild hair, he tentatively made his way to the stool, sitting down without so much as a sound. Immediately, the Sorting Hat gave a perplexed look. Many of the students already seated leaned forward without realizing-- you had to make your own fun during the quieter parts of the ceremony, and they knew that look. This was going to be a tougher one for the Hat.

"Hmm. You'd do quite well, yes," It murmured quietly, as if it were speaking less to the boy and more to itself. Thirty seconds went by, and then another thirty. The room had hushed considerably since only a minute ago. As the time seemed to crawl boy, the boy began fiddling with his fingers in an attempt to do something else other than feel the heat that was arising from both all of the people collected into one room, along with the warmness radiating off of his own skin in anticipation.

"Such a shame. I'm sure, yes." The leathery Hat whispered under his breath. The two seemed to be locked in an argument, and the crowd's concerned whispers slowly began to rise above each other. Those same formerly nervous dark-blue eyes actually seemed to begin relaxing once they had passed a certain mark of time-- as if he was adjusting to the situation that he now found himself in. Now he was just waiting for a decision like everyone else, but one that he also played apart in.

When the two minute mark went by and still no answer, it was obvious that the majority in the room were getting a bit tired of waiting... Though, at the very same time the tension surrounding them was becoming more and more apparent. For this sorting to take this long, the kid had to have some major potential, and all of the houses were beginning to take a special interest in him. The Sorting Hat was grumbling something to the boy, under its breath, far too quiet for even the professors to hear. After what seemed like hours of anticipation, the Hat finally cleared its throat, and diverted its attention to the crowd.

"Slytherin." it said, assuredly. The Slytherin table roared in triumph as best it could, and the boy slowly slid off of the stool and walked over to get greeted by the celebratory faces of the crowd reaching to pat him on the shoulder. The new first-year redhead leaned back and blinked at his arrival without doing much else, allowing him to bask in his newly-sorted glory.

"Hero Hallcrest-Wyrm."

A tall, dirty blond witch strode up to the stool. She deposited herself on the thing as if she'd belonged there. Crossed her gangly legs and folded her spindling fingers in her laps with a fluidity that far outpaced the awkwardness of a girl who was years out from womanhood.

The Sorting Hat had opened its... mouth to speak almost in the same moment as it'd been dropped on the girl's head. Her brows furrowed, and its flaps closed. Seconds ticked by, and the folds of the fabric seemed to twinge upward as the girl's expression grew more and more stern.

Eventually, the Hat barked it's decision: "Gryffindor!"

The table set with red and gold roared its approval.

The girl jumped at the sudden noise-- either from on top of her head or the table in front of her, but didn't move to settle herself. Instead, she titled her head. "That's the red one?"

"Their cheers didn't tip you off?"

"Sassy hat," the girl sang, sliding off the stool. The witch was halfway down the steps, when she turned to face the at. Eyes narrowed, she raised a hand, twirled a 'v' with it, from her eyes toward the piece of fabric. "A promise," she half hissed.

For the first time that evening, the Sorting Hat laughed.

"Giles Kingston."

A well-groomed young man took his seat on the stool quickly, sitting up straight with a patient expectancy. It was obvious that that this was a boy used to countless eyes following him around, for better or for worse. This was probably the only case of the year where the mumbles and the whispers didn’t even phase the child, he simply kept staring at his objective, the stool. Sitting down with a distinct elegance, he sat completely straight and no one in the entire Great Hall could knock his flawless posture. The Hat seemed to appear quite confounded for a moment, before changing its expression into one of strict concentration.

For awhile, everything that was still. The child kept his eyes forward, looking above the heads of the older students sitting before him. They only knew a decision was coming when the the boy's eyebrows began to rise. "Sure, sure. Tradition." The Hat paused. Flaps creasing, as if reflecting on its decisions. Then the Hat ruffled, jerked itself from side to side-- the closest it could come to shaking its head. "No. My decision stands."

"Gryffindor!" The boy's face was one of shock, but not shock or perhaps of disgust similar to that of the young, previously sorted silver-haired witch. Just surprise. He walked to the cheering table of Gryffindors with a half-dazed expression, paying little mind to the many pats he felt on his back from his new housemates.

"Kina Listig."

A scruffy looking golden-haired boy stepped forward from the rows of first years, staring more at the gargantuan ceilings and walls. While his eyes lingered on all of the glistening attractive decorations spread about the hall, his warm brown gaze finally drew back into focus when one of his shoes tapped a leg of the stool. The headmistress looked mildly amused as the child seemed to return to what situation he was in and all but threw himself down on the chair, settling his tight shaky fists in his lap.

The Hat smiled as it was placed on the boy's head, as if it were thankful for an easy decision. "I know where to put this one." It mumbled to the boy for a moment longer, before announcing its choice.

"Ravenclaw!"

Another group of students went after him, quickly making their way through P surnames.

"Morgan Pryde."

A young, fair-skinned boy gingerly made his way up to the steps. Heaving a sigh, he deposited himself on the stool. The Sorting Hat mumbled to the boy, as it had so many others. Only now, its fabric folded inward, narrowing into what was probably a deeply uncertain look. "Ra-" It paused for a moment, the boy having cleared his throat anxiously and interrupted it. Despite that, the Hat only shifted a bit before ultimately grunting in disapproval. Small beads of sweat started forming after it was inwardly made known to the boy that the Hat had made its decision. "Ravenclaw!"

Dejected, he began to walk towards the table covered in decorations of blue and silver, sitting down with a slump.

"Ishwarya Singh."

This name in particular rolled off the headmistress' tongue like verbal art-- whether or not she did that to show off or not, no one could say. The young girl seemed to stiffen when her name was called and took in a deep breath to regain the last shred of composure she could still muster up in front of all these expectant faces. With movements akin to a graceful doe, the dark-skinned witch headed up to the stood and made sure to sit down quickly, her eyes trained first on headmistress Ouranea before diving towards the floor.

The Sorting Hat was placed very gingerly on the quiet girl's head and seemed to sit itself a bit higher on her head. The crinkles that were used to stand-in for the item's missing eyes narrowed a bit and the faint sound of a puzzled hum traveled throughout the hall if for only a moment.

"Hufflepuff!"

The tabled littered in gold and black were delighted at the call of their house name, as if they were winning some unspoken contest, while the shy new member quickly rose from the stool and made her way over to all of those grinning faces.

"Isabella Williams"

A petite girl perked up at the mention of her name, her thin fingers restlessly moving where they dangled beside her. All but managing to stop herself from running forward, and instead slowed herself to more of a swift walk while the bright grin she wore made no show of dimming anytime soon. Perching herself atop the stool, she took only a moment to rearrange a few loose strands of golden shining hair before waiting to feel the inevitable drop of a hat onto her head.

"Hufflepuff!" The Hat shouted after mulling his decision over for a few short seconds.

Following the Hat's removal, it looked as though in that one moment all of the little girl's dreams had come to life. Bounding down from the stool, she headed in the direction of the vibrant yellow and black colors where the rest of the seated Hufflepuffs were practically roaring with elation.

"Andrew Worth"

A short strawberry blonde wizard sat at the stool, squinting at the Gryffindor table, as though trying to make out a familiar face. The Hat's expression was one of impatience, as if it was hearing something it had heard many times before -- if it had eyes, it would've rolled them.

"Ravenclaw."

A blond head shot up from the Gryffindor table. "You lice-infested worm--" was all the girl had a chance to spit before she was dragged back down to the bench, a redhead with a Prefect pin slapping her hand over the first year's mouth.

The Sorting Hat laughed, again; this time, the rest of the hall followed.

With the blond witch's objection stifled, the boy slouched and shuffled to the Ravenclaw table.

The sorting of 2017 went on for many hours, and eventually ended with Percival Zachariah, a Gryffindor. When it was over, each of the first years were guided by prefects to their respective common rooms. Slytherins went through the dungeon to reach their underwater lair, Hufflepuffs would find their hideaway tucked into the building's hearth and frame by the kitchen, and the Ravenclaws found themselves in the most isolated tower, while the Gryffindors, as boisterous and proud as they were, made their way to one of the tallest towers.

"What if no one shows up?" Andrew asked, around the nail he was all but working off his finger.

Hero groaned. She threw her arms up in exasperation. Let them fall limply back against the desk she was lying on, a dull thud following them that didn't phase her, but made Andrew wince. "This, again?"

The wizard spun, glaring at his cousin. "Yes," he spat, leaning over to rap on her forehead with his wand. Hero swatted at the improvised weapon, scowling. "We've been over this, Hero."

The blond grasped wildly for Andrew's wand, missing it by a hairs breadth each time the washed-out vine came back down to tap her forehead. Ordinarily, Andrew would be snickering. When Hero pried open an eye to glare at him, his lips were set thin. Genuinely annoyed, then. Hero rolled her eyes.

"What if no one shows up, Andrew?"

"That's what I asked--"

"No," the witch cut him off. She threw her arms in front of her, used the momentum to peel herself from the desk. The smooth fabric of her robe made it difficult to get purchase against the wood, but she managed. "Really, Drew. What if no one shows up? So what."

Andrew tilted his head, brows furrowing as he blinked, vacantly, at his cousin.

"They're knobheads, Drew," the witch half groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. She drug her hands down her face. Allowed her wand to roll from where it's been pinned by her back, listlessly to the wood floor. "Wankers, the lot of them. Genuinely. You should've heard the girl who lead us up to the tower."

Andrew snorted. "The type you were surprised could even see you, from how high in the air her nose was?"

Hero beamed. "Yup."

So Andrew'd had a similar experience with his Ravenclaw prefect. Good to know. "And hey, if nobody comes?" Hero nudged her cousin. Smiled when he glanced back at her, not unfondly. "You've still got me."

The redhead's eyes softened for a moment. His creased brows smoothed. Pursed lips fell back to their natural, lopsided spots on his cheeks. Hero's grin grew wide and dimpled at the gentle look - honest. Then Andrew broke the look. He rolled his eyes. Snorted. "You say that like it isn't a curse."

"Oi."

It wasn't about nobody coming, really. Not about the bodies. Between them, Andrew and Hero couldn't reasonably care less about getting to know their classmates. Even before they'd lived together, they'd done fine being just the two of them, for years.

No. This was about learning. About sating Andrew's curiosity... and, maybe about giving Hero an excuse to annoy him in the meantime.

It didn't have a name yet, but it'd existed since breakfast. A study group, of sorts. A place for wizards and witches (or was it wixen?) of a... similar skill level to come together, and grow together, and learn together.

The whole thing'd sounded a bit posh, when Hero'd heard Andrew put it that way, but his eyes had practically glistened when he'd started on about it, and she never was very good at telling him not to do things he wanted to.

That "study group," whatever it was, was why Hero and Andrew had spent the better part of their first day either scouting locations in an unfamiliar castle (making Hero late to class, no less) or inviting unfamiliar people to said unfamiliar locations. It was why Hero was now sitting in an offshoot of the newly repaired study room, with Andrew working himself into a froth, behind her.

"I'm sure they'll come though, Drew," the witch sighed, lying back down on the desk.

Andrew hummed, tone too high, too tight, to be natural. He flipped through a book he could only describe as a bestiary, rather than rightly acknowledging his cousin.

Hero again sprawled across a shiny maple desk, she looked longingly at the courtyard through her lashes. "After all," she cooed, "you are a bit of a knobhead magnet."

Hero had to clutch her stomach to get proper air, laughing, when the book her cousin had tried to throw at her head sailed well and harmlessly over her, landing with a slap in the hallway.

Kina was growing accustomed to loping down mile-long corridors and sprinting down staircases before they could jolt to life and start moving with the end-point of elsewhere in mind, and still arriving late. Classes had come to an end, and Kina had been late to all of them. The castle - with its twisting hallways and sprawling grounds - was child's play to get lost in. Kina had slipped belatedly into each class with cheeks ruby red from exertion and embarrassment. He had a sinking feeling he had already been blacklisted in every professor's book so far, from Charms to Potions.

It was all but guaranteed that Kina would continue to be habitually late to class until he shot up another foot.

And he absolutely, casually, loved the place.

Through the windows he had seen wizards and witches whizzing by on their brooms, robes aflutter like wings behind them as they raced each other around, or tossed balls in flight. There was an air of gaiety and jubilation everywhere that permeated the brick and mortar of the school, made up its culture that must have persisted during the years of renovation prior Kina had heard about in the conversations he had dropped a ear in. The pictures that lined the walls he passed gazed curiously but not hostilely at him, not even restrained by the frames that bordered their images. Some wiggled fingers at him, and Kina flushed in response as he continued to walk by. He was pretty much resolute in his decision to pick up a camera from the magical world. He had tried cracking open his digital one when he had gotten to his dormitory, only to find that his LCD screen just fizzled and crackled at him when switched on.

"Electronic thingamajigs don't work here. The magic offsets it. Can't imagine why you would want still pictures though, when you can have moving ones," Rory Bird the Ravenclaw prefect had told him when Kina asked, with a flaming neck and the uncomfortable feeling of being towered over. Bird had then proceeded to thoroughly inspect Kina's camera ("And what is this button supposed to do - ohh.") and Kina had barely managed to escape with it intact before Bird tried to take it apart and cast a Transfiguration spell on it - to Kina's profound horror. ("Oh come on, don't be a spoilsport, this one'll make it sprout legs and dance and pose for you! I've practiced!")

Ravenclaw House seemed to be full of odd figures like Rory Bird, bright students with sharp minds and quick tongues. Kina had seen some in the common room the night before, casting spells on inanimate objects to make them suddenly very animated. They looked none too simple, but the students had only laughed as they waved their wands and performed their magic impeccably.

Kina wasn't very sure why he was in Ravenclaw, with the bar set so high. He might have shared their passion for learning, but he was behind the rest, and would be playing catch-up for the most part. Which was why he was now headed for a study club he had heard about in the Great Hall during breakfast. A gathering for first-years to learn together. One of the boys who was in Ravenclaw with him seemed to be the mastermind behind the idea. With any hope and frequent sessions, Kina could realistically aim for As - though, from what he had heard, those weren't necessarily the best.

He was walking down a corridor when he heard laughter ringing from one of the open doors. He leaned forward to covertly peep into the study room to check if it was indeed the right location, but jumped back when a book hurtled past him, missing him by a breath.

Kina looked back into the room, to see a blonde girl on a table, bent double in chortles beside a curly-haired boy he recognised as the Ravenclaw who'd been spreading the good word. Ascertaining that no more books would be flying into him, Kina crept out from behind the wall and bent to pick up the thrown book. He turned back to face the two students, and walked across the threshold, one hand holding tight to the straps of his satchel while the other held the book out to them.

"I think this is yours," he murmured, fighting to keep the colour from rising in his cheeks as he approached the desk. "This is the study club, yeah? I'm sorry I'm late, I got lost around the green-houses." His eyes darted around the brightly-lit room - and its freshly-painted walls, unmarked furniture, and unstained glass panes - before he started, as though remembering something briefly overlooked, and added, "I'm Kina Listig."

Bella was in awe of the whole school. She had only heard about it through her siblings, as they described the place in as much detail as they could (at least the ones that would talk to her), who had all come here and had either been in Slytherin or Gryffindor and now here she was, being the different one again in Hufflepuff. She was excited for her House, even if she knew nothing about it but what she had been told by the Prefect at the beginning of the year. All of them seemed very nice, even the Prefect, Page Giles. Ever since the Sorting Ceremony, all of them, even some of the first years, had been fairly nice to her, though she didn't talk to them much, and had not called or strange or made fun of her family history. She was actually comfortable with this house.

As her personality allowed her to do, each class she went to, she always seemed to be the first one there, much to the astonishment of the teachers, as they were accustom to seeing a Ravenclaw there first. She would just laugh it off, but it did kind of sting, since her Prefect said that Hufflepuffs were just as brilliant as all the other houses. She was sure that she was right. She was enthralled in her studies, making sure that she did everything correctly and to the point, even if it did mean staying up late and losing sleep. She would have to watch that though, because if she slept in, she would be late to her classes, which is never good.

She had heard through the tables at breakfast that there was supposedly a study group for first years starting up. She pondered this thoughtfully as she approached the barrels into the Hufflepuff dormitories. She pulled out her wand and tapped the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row. “He-lga Huf-fle-puff,” Bella murmured, making sure that she got the pattern right. No one had been drenched in vinegar yet, as far as she had heard. Or smelled. She knew that she didn’t have to say the name, but she wanted to make sure that she got the pattern right. She didn’t want to be the first person to be drenched.

She crawled through the barrel and popped out into the cozy common room, where a few of the older students were hanging out. She immediately dropped her eyes and head, making sure not to make eye contact with any of them. She hurried up to her dormitory and grabbed her book bag, throwing it over her shoulder. Her black robes swung around her in a rhythmic pattern and she snapped her fingers, remembering why she had come here in the first place, minus to grab her book bag. She pulled out her trunk, unlatching it and flipping it open, and grabbed some sheet music for the piano. She needed to practice at some point this week before she would forget her Sonata. She would have to keep the music in her bag if she were ever to remember.

Walking back out of her room, she headed back into the common room, where only a few of the older children still sat. She hurried back out the tunnel, making sure that it closed behind her before heading toward the study rooms. The bark colored book back bounced against her back as she made her way hurriedly down the halls. Some idiot was flying down the hallway on a broom, probably showing off to a girl or some friends. She thought it looked interesting. Quidditch had always been an interest of hers, with the flying brooms, but she had never had time for it. Or, at least, her family would never let her play.

Being as small as she was and the hallway being as big as it was, she was able to make her way through the elder students and other first years a lot faster because she could see the gaps between people and beat them to it before they crossed next to each other. She accidentally bumped into a few people once or twice, apologizing as she hurried off, unable to stop and make sure that they were okay. She hurried to the study room and saw a young blond fellow and a blond girl and a reddish head guy sitting there. She walked up quietly behind them, her chest moving up and down a bit from the fast walk.

“H-hello,” she said, stuttering a little bit from lack of air and nervousness. “Is…is this the study group? I’m Bella Williams and I was hoping to join.”

"The study club?" Andrew repeated, voice cracking as he spun to face the new voice.

Hero crossed her arms behind her head. "Sure is."

The redhead breathed a sigh of relief. "We were supposed to meet in the green-houses. We were going to, anyway. We got chased out by something leafy and green. And teethy. Think it spit at me: rude. Hardly learning environment-ly.

"Suppose that's beside the point though. We're here now; you figured it out." The witch shrugged against the desk.

"That's Andrew," she gestured in what could vaguely be construed as her cousin's direction, her eyes still closed.

Andrew straightened his posture - smoothed the ruffles of his too-large robe. He drew the book back; he froze when he realized this kid's first impression of him would be of him throwing a book at his cousin's head.

Worse, that the kid's first impression of him would be missing his cousin's head. "T-thank you."

He set the book down on the desk. Andrew squared his shoulders. Cleared his throat, again. Extended his hand to the kid. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Listig."

Hero snorted.

"And this is my cousin," Andrew leveled a glare at the blond witch - as if he could and somehow would revoke their relationship, were he pushed far enough, "Hero Hallcrest."

"Hallcrest-Wyrm."

"Sure." Andrew waved a hand, dismissive. "It's nice to meet you..." he trailed off, eyes drifting toward the small blond girl in yellow and black.


"Yes! We're uh... this is the study group. The Study Club." The redhead's face fell. Maybe he should've come up with a name for this thing, before starting it...

"O-of course!" Andrew's expression roused at the girls question; he shook his head. Reigned himself back in, before his grin overtook his face. Don't act like a dog. Right. "I-- absolutely. Delighted to have you."

"Delighted," Hero repeated, timbre too sing-song to be anything, save mocking.

Andrew huffed. Elbowed the edge of the returned book into the crook of the blond witch's neck.

Hero pried an eye open when the desk she'd staked claim to shifted. Cocked a brow as a blond headed wizard deposited himself in one of its chairs. Grinned when he spoke. At the put upon resignation she decided was rolling off him in waves.

"Glad to hear you think so."

The witch rolled onto her side. "Hero Hallcrest-Wyrm." She propped her head in one hand - presented the other to the kid, Morgan, with a sweeping, melodramatic flourish. "Charmed, I'm sure.

"Were you thinking on joining us, or just chewing the scenery?"

A small figure slipped out from the shadows surrounding the door to the first year's Potions classroom, many minutes after the bulk of students had rushed out into the slowly dimming light of the late afternoon, excited to explore and make the best out of their first stretch of free time in their new home. This excitement, though palpable, did not quite manage to breach the dejected slump that the thin boy wore as he trod methodically down the dungeon corridor. It was all so brutally unfair, Rory decided suddenly, kicking the bottom of a suit of armour with a riotous clang. His musing was momentarily interrupted when the metal figure began to hop up and down in mock pain, clutching its injured foot, but as Rory moved on his brief interlude of bright shock and wonder faded back into the dull grays of depression. Bitterly, Rory wondered to himself what the point of magic was if it couldn't actually do anything important. Feeling tears well up for at least the third time since he left home, Rory found a small alcove next to a window and sat staring out over a portion of Hogwart's Quidditch pitch. He had to admit to himself as he heaved big breaths in an attempt to stave off sobs that the players zipping about in the air were much more interesting than watching footie on the telly... his eyes were drawn to the lone figure in front of the three hoops, dipping and rolling as she threw her limbs in front of balls that Rory had been sure were going to go through one of the goals. She looked so fluid, and wasn't even that big! Maybe size wasn't as important in- … but there he went again, getting distracted from what was really important. Rory cursed to himself, using words for which his father would have washed his mouth out if he'd overheard, and felt indescribably lonely.



Horace Slughorn bent over his desk, his back creaking a warning that Horace too often ignored these days, and peered down at the inquisitive young figure in front of him. He struggled to remember the boy's name without having to check the roster list, but his memory had began to fade at the same pace as his girth, leaving the substantially thinner man having to rely more on notes and lists than his historically impeccable mind. Luckily, a name came to him out of the depths of his mind, causing the old Professor to grin. He still had it! Putting on his kindliest smile, Horace beckoned the boy closer.

“Come closer, young Rory. You're one of my snakes, after all. Muggleborn, if I remember correctly... how are you finding Hogwarts then?”

Rory paused, a little intimidated by the earnestness of the Professor, before sounding his response. “Umm... it's good! It's all a little big, but I have so many questions – I don't even know where to begin...” He trailed off, suddenly nervous in front of the Head of Slytherin House. Professor Slughorn smiled a well-practiced yet dismissive smile as he began to sort his papers for the night, his voice carrying the warm tone of a life spent faking sincerity.

“My boy, questions are the heart of learning. It may seem overwhelming now, but you'll quickly come into it. Why, some of my best students were Muggleborn – why, I was a close mentor and friend to the developing mind of the great Hermione Granger, don't you know, and she was as Muggleborn as they come!” Slughorn's voice shifted slightly as he switched out of his eager storytelling and shook his head, staring down at Rory. “But, have no fear, young... Rory. It is but the first day of classes, your questions will be answered in due time. Go on and explore and make friends!” Slughorn smiled, gesturing dismissively. He'd handled that well, he thought. Young children were so confusing, though, never predictable...

“It's just... a question about potions, sir. You said today that potions could be used to cure all sorts of sicknesses, and it's just, you see, me ma...” Rory spoke in a rush, but was cut off by the dry heaving cough of Slughorn as the latter raised his hand to stop the young student from continuing.

“Ah, I'm afraid it's frankly out of the question. Your mother is a Muggle, correct? Ah, yes... Muggles unfortunately lack the superior constitution of wizards, and our potions and remedies so rarely work well on them. I must applaud your dedication though, very caring. Come, boy, think of happier things than that on your first day of school!” Slughorn wheezed his way through the sentence, increasingly losing his voice as he devolved into another round of hacking coughs. Rory stood awkwardly as Slughorn gained control of himself, but earnestly continued the moment that his Professor stopped.

“Well, sir, I was just reading in my books, just a wee bit, and it say that some wizards could... uh... extend their life through magic! That's an option too then, innit?” Rory was stunned by the sudden change in Slughorn's face as the decrepit figure suddenly seemed to gain two feet in height in straightening up from the desk, the ancient face darkening with a dangerous expression.

“Young man, you must put these dangerous thoughts out of your head. Out, I say! No good has ever come of such dabbling! Go, attend to your studies, and speak of this no more.” Rory, recognizing that continuing the conversation would expose him more to the unpredictable emotions of Slughorn, promptly nodded a meek agreement and fled. As he left, he overheard Slughorn muttering to himself: “My word, on the first day of school... what have children become these days...”



Rory was torn from his reflection by a gentle cough, and raised his tear-stricken face to see a regretful and kindly expression on the face of Horace Slughorn. The older man brushed the dust off his coat self-consciously, and bowed his head ever so slightly in apology. His voice carried the slight tone of remorse, but still retained the firm tenor gained from a lifetime of teaching.

“I must express my deepest apologies, young man, for being too harsh on you. You must forgive an old man for getting lost in his memories. I meant neither to discourage nor dissuade you, who no doubt had only the best of intentions.” Slughorn paused, then awkwardly patted Rory on the shoulder. “The truth is that magic is complex and unreliable at the best of times, and I would urge you not to go experimenting without too much practice. The best way that you can help yourself and those around you is to work hard in your classes, learn the basics, and make them proud. Come talk to me in a few months, and maybe I can give you some books to read, hmm? Sound good, boy?” Rory cautiously nodded, feeling slightly better. That earned him a hasty pat on the back from Slughorn, who rose and began to totter off back to his office.

“Run along now, find something to occupy yourself. You won't help us win the house cup sitting in an alcove, and Merlin knows Slytherin needs all the help it can get...” Slughorn's voice trailed off, as he began muttering about Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and the unfortunate year of 1984. Rory couldn't help but smile a bit wider at the old Professor's back, and hopped off the window ledge. He did feel better, if only a little bit. But, there was so much to learn, and there was only so much time in the day! Rory sighed, nodding to himself as his brain began to mentally organize all the books in his trunk in order of how interesting their titles looked to read. Hogwarts: A History seemed a bit dull, though the picture of the giant basilisk on the cover was certainly appealing. Basic Transfiguration seemed even worse, but Basic Charms was an invitingly slim text that sparkled a bit when opened. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was flat out dangerous, though, and Rory quickly relegated it to the bottom of the pile. Humming to himself as he completed this task, Rory barely even noticed the voices coming from the open door up ahead.

Hogwarts, as usual, had a habit of sending absentminded students to places that they should be, and Rory was no exception. He found himself suddenly and inexplicably standing in front of a doorway (that Rory could have sworn moved to get in his way), and was brought out of his musing by the realization that he had stumbled into a room and was being faced with a sudden question.

"Were you thinking on joining us, or just chewing the scenery?"

Rory bristled, his mind already working out a set of most impolite responses, and the most aggressive one was already on his tongue before he realized that the question hadn't been directed at him. His intended retort died a horrible croaking death in Rory's throat, and overall made him feel like he'd have been better saying it out loud after all. At least there weren't any Slytherins in the room – he'd been intimidated enough last night by the casual ease that most of his dorm-mates had settled into living in Hogwarts that he didn't want to make any further errors in front of them.

“Uh... t'is... sorry ta intrude! Got lost, ye know?” Rory smiled a big smile, losing his carefully practiced "proper" English in his frustration, and made to step out of the room again.

"Noo, Taffeh. Thassabad cat! Put'em doon. Dropet." Iorweth whispered, sitting up in his bed. Taffy, a large, fluffy raincloud of a cat sat at the end of his bed, holding a dead mouse tightly in his teeth. "'Taffy!" he quietly hissed, afraid he'd wake a sleeping housemate on his first night at Hogwarts. Taffy only growled, and laid down, chewing on his prize. Iorweth reached forward and grabbed the tail of the mouse, which was met on Taffy's side with another deep growl, that rumbled from his core with a surprising amount of malice for a cat. Iorweth quickly yanked the dead mouse from Taffy's possession, and slid back to his end of the bed, carefully tucking his toes under the covers to avoid Taffy's vengeance. "Poor timorous beastie." The boy said almost apologetically, softly petting the mouse's head with a single finger. "'Enthamernin' I'll finja a nice spot enthe sun to rest." He whispered, tucking the mouse next to a textbook by his bed.

"Is that a dead mouse?" a voice called out in the dark. Iorweth looked up, and met eyes with an older boy a bed across from him, who had been staring at the scene unfold. "Yes. M'gointeh bury'em tomorrow."

"That's gross." The boy said, narrowing his eyes and pulling his covers tightly to his chin. "Don't touch anything in here until you clean your hands."

---

"'Allo!" Iorweth said, stepping from behind the boy in Slytherin robes he had been following. He paid little mind to the collective jump of surprise gave off by the group, and paced a few steps into the room. Iorweth didn't intend to sneak up on the group or the boy by any means, he was just unaware of how quiet his footsteps were. Aside from his ghostlike footfall, he hadn't yet realized popping up behind his peers wasn't exactly the normal way to introduce yourself. After all, this was the first time he had been away from his farm, and he was still very, very excited. "Esthes the clab 'fer studyin' an' such?" The boy smiled inquisitively, tightly clutching a leatherbound textbook to his cloak. "M'not normally a book'erm, but ahlready know somma' what Professor 'Agrid's teachin'.

He paced forward a few more steps, and began to excitedly open his book, flipping through the pages. "I 'adn't benenvited, but I 'eard someone talkin' to 'im abou'the group." He said, nodding to the still somewhat surprised Rory who he had interrupted. "'Ah figured effa followed'em, I'd find the study group, and 'ere it is!" Without finding whatever page he was looking for, he set his opened book on a desk, and extended his hand to Hero and Andrew, who stood closely together, still trying to figure out what their uninvited guest was saying. "Yarweth Cardog. Spelled I-O-R, but etsa yar sound, like pirates or somethen'."

If she was being completely honest, Nia was still in awe about this whole magic-is-real, being-a-witch thing. She'd actually had to pinch herself a handful of times already, just to reassure herself- this was real. She wasn't dreaming.

She'd always known there was something different about her- well, aside from her general difference. How things would happen around her, with weird and inexplicable reasons. How her hair would grow inches overnight every time she was forced to cut it, how she would land feather-light no matter how high the fall, that sort of thing. It just never really occurred to her that the reason was that she was an actual honest-to-goodness witch!

Nia had only been there a day, but she had already fallen in love with the towering ceilings, the talking paintings, the huge house tables (and all that food!), the thought-provoking questions she had to answer to get into her dormitory. There were suits of armor all around the school, she'd heard rumors of a poltergeist, had actually seen the large, ghostly-white tentacle of the Giant Squid on her journey over the lake the previous night. Apparently there were even unicorns in the magical forest on the grounds! (Which, apparently, all students were forbidden from entering- really, what an unimaginative name, The Forbidden Forest. There was absoltely no way she was going to honor a lazy title like that. Plus, a far cry from her old school the teachers were cool, the classes awesome - there was even a class completely about how to turn things into other things!

(The only disappointment, honestly, was that students aren't allowed to use magic under-age when they were at home. There had been a fabulous five minutes where Nia had just disregarded it as another school rule there to be broken, until a senior Ravenclaw corrected her. It was actually an international law that could get her expelled- or worse, sent to prison!)

Which lead to Nia's second visit to the library today, hunting down a book on magical law, just to cover her bases. Imagining trying to explain why she had been arrested for sneezing and turning auntie Asri's tunic green! ....Again.

As she managed to locate and borrow the book that seemed correct, she overheard some faint mumbling. Stopping in her tracks, she leaned toward the source of the sound, wedging herself closer to the towering book-case to shield herself from view.

"...Hospital wing..." "...Study room...." " ...In Merlin's name..."

"S'cuse me!" She heard herself blurt, stepping out from behind the bookcase and locking eyes with the nearest speaker, who turned out to be a Ravenclaw, and at least two years older than her. "What's going on in the study room and something about the hospital wing?"

Slightly taken aback by her sudden appearance and loudness in the overall hush of the library, the boy she'd locked eyes with relaxed slightly when she put her hands behind her back and nodded to show that she had begun to listen.

"Some first-years are having a study group in the study room two floors below, on the other side of the castle. First years in any sort of numbers practicing spells are bound to get dangerous. I'd stay away from there for now if I were you."

"It's going on now?" She confirmed, barely waiting for him to nod before crowing "Thanks!" and bolting from the library, jewelry clanking, toward the staircase.

It had always been easy for her to make friends, even with her quick temper and her tendency to flit from subject to subject. Though for some reason, her roommates seemed to be annoyed by her- maybe she was too loud? Maybe they just weren't used to her yet. It was probably because they were shy, she reasoned, assuring herself they would warm up in time. Everyone eventually did.

In the meantime, however, Hogwarts was bound to get lonely once its newness wore off. So that meant she needed to make some friends. Naturally, this seemed to be the perfect opportunity - a study group would at least hint at other first-years that were as interested in learning as much about the magical world as quickly as possible as she was, and hopefully not a bunch of- well- nerds.

Her enduring enthrallment with Hogwarts had dimmed a little bit when she had learned that the house she had been sorted into was generally viewed as "the nerd house". True, she did love to read, and when something struck her interest, she wanted to know the subject inside and out immediately, but that didn't mean she was a nerd- a stuck-up, pretentious, condescending buttface. However she had bounced back when the third-year she had sat next to at breakfast had assured her that a sizeable portion of Ravenclaws were like her- and a few of them even had abysmal grades.

Mere feet from the study room, Nia found herself stopping short, as though an invisible hand had grabbed her by the braid and yanked her backward. "You only have one chance for a first impression," she remembered her mother saying vividly,"so make sure it's a good one!"

Quickly she patted herself down, ensuring her robes were not tucked into her underwear at the back, that her tie was straight, her skirt not riding up, that there was nothing in her teeth, or anything embarrassing like that!

Nia stepped through the already-open door, an excited smile spreading lopsidedly over her lips, and scanned the room.
There was an array of students in an almost-even assortment of different-colored ties - though counting her, there was a majority of blue ties. Not surprising, if she were to buy into House stereotypes! Mostly everyone seemed nice enough, however, time would certainly tell. But she was here to meet friends, not pass judgements on people who'd done her no wrong yet; the boy sprawled over a desk looking very contrived and self-possessed, or the blonde girl trying to shrink into the ground, or the- almost commanding squeaky redhead -why, any of them could be her next very best friend.

Hoping for tact and probably missing the mark, Nia stepped a few inches closer to the blonde girl, softening her smile to what she hoped was a warm, nurturing one before snapping back to her usual grin and waving energetically at the group at large, bangles jingling aggressively.

"Heard there's a study group! Room for one more-oops!" Magical Laws, Statutes and By-Laws, 1697 Edition, which she had been clutching in her waving hand, had slipped from her grasp and flown through the air. Vaulting a desk, she barely managed to catch it by the tips of her fingers- never mind the fact that she had slammed the back of her head into another desk. Seemingly unworried by the throbbing pain in the back of her head, she popped back up, tucking the book into her satchel. "Room for one more? I'm Nia, by the way!"

---

Ishwarya pushed her thick black hair out of her face, appraising in the mirror her thin, long features, and full brown skin. Was she pretty? The question tended to bother her, more often than not.

All the other girls around her had begun their transition from small wily things into taller, more fully formed, teenagers. Ishwarya, on the other hand, remained thin, and gangly, and overall, what she viewed as boyish. She had often pulled her hair back as tight as possible, looking at her angled features, wondering what people saw when they viewed her sharp face and large eyes.

"Are you done in there? It's nearly past curfew."

A snobbish Hufflepuff prefect's brunette head peeked out from behind the bathroom doors. She looked exasperated, as if the other similarly subdued Hufflepuffs had been giving her the worst time of her young life. Ishwarya nodded giving an acquiescent smile to the disgruntled prefect, and the girl, with an unnecessarily exuberant sigh, disappeared back behind the heavy old oak doors that hinged on the entrance of the girl's bathroom.

Spot, her faithful companion, a speckled black, tan, and white crup would be waiting anxiously for her return to the Hufflepuff quarters. He hadn't taken the train ride well; whats more, he seemed insanely vexed the high content of Muggle-borns that seemed to permeate Hogwarts' ancient walls.

Coming from a family where more than a few cousins had married muggle borns, Ishwarya thought them to be alright. She had never been hurt by a muggle born of a muggle for that matter. She supposed crups had been bred to be discriminatory, but hadn't discrimination been one of the horrible motivating factors that had pushed Voldemort's tyranny on all those years ago?

The girl snapped back to reality as the irritated click claking of the prefect's shoes against the smooth tiled floor echoed throughout the bathroom. She rushed out, beaming a smile of compliance up at her escort, who pointedly rolled her dark, deeply set eyes.

Ishwarya's face flushed red. She was so used to being obedient that the prefect's blatant lack of care for her subservient show had been a jolting reminder of just how little other students could care about groveling obedience. It was a stark difference compared to her previous school, where all the scolding had been doled out by teachers or disgruntled parents.

Quietly, she, along with a few other girls, followed the dark figure of their towering prefect back down to the Hufflepuff basement. It was going to be a long year.

---

The day had been long, and, exciting. Ishwarya still felt apprehension and intimidation when she viewed her schoolmates, some of whom were many heads higher than she was. The halls were a blur of black and multicolored stripes, a whirlwind of fluttering notebooks and swinging backpacks. Ishwarya, with her small, lean, frame, had managed to easily squirm her way through the crowds, weaving between small slits of spaces, occasionally stepping on somebody's toe, and looking back to provide an apologetic grimace.

She had been one of the earliest to each of her classes, alongside a few other prompt classmates. She had also been, as was usual, slow to make friends. Though she had spoken with a few other, equally shy, classmates, she had mostly stuck to a few people, all of which were her Hufflepuff comrades, choosing to shy away from the other, more boisterous looking houses. Of course, her mother's words of encouragement pricked at the back of her head. She was to, or should, make friends of all variations.

So therefore, it was in this break between classes, that Ishwarya hit a stroke of luck. She happened to stumble upon a small (or large...it seemed large to her), gathering of students. The words "study group" floated in the air, alongside a myriad of introductions. Ishwarya had clearly been late to the gathering of whatever this little posy was. The students already present were many, and most of them seemed far bolder than she was.

But 'study group' had pricked her interest. Slowly and quietly she ebbed into the crowded room, managing to squeeze herself into a small space between some of the students who were still standing. Most had seemed to have named themselves already, and quietly, with several stutters, she managed to put forth her name,

"I-i-Ishwarya Singh," she simpered quietly, face reddening under her own self-created pressure to conform. Taking a deep breath, she felt the red melt away from her face, and, finding herself becoming increasingly comfortable in the presence of students her own age, mustered up the courage to stand a little straighter and look a little less shier. Still, she waited in silence, trying to tune in to the conversation the students were holding.

It seemed like the moment that Rory had made up his mind to leave the room, he was bombarded by the sudden arrival of others, inexorably pushing him further into the room and leaving him momentarily stunned. His feeling of being completely and utterly out of place was only getting worse as names of Professors and magical subjects and textbooks were tossed around him casually, as if the existence of magic wasn't an incredible, unreal, and constantly confusing thing. He, Rory, who had been perfectly comfortable in his reputation as the likable boy who always had something fun and exciting to say, was left drawing a complete blank as to what could possibly impress or interest the incredibly fascinating people now swirling around him. He did know one thing, though, and that was that he desperately wanted to make a good impression in front of these people. Right now, that meant holding off and being patient. His father had always said that you couldn't take back first impressions, and Rory was pretty sure he'd already partly bunged his up; might as well cut his losses and look for a chance to make amends later. First, he'd stick his nose in a book and read up on what he needed to know in order to follow the conversations going on around him.

Rory was saved from his brief stint in the spotlight by the arrival of a boy who spoke less-comprehensibly than some of his father's friends, and made to slip out as a result. However, as he turned toward the door he came face to face with a fellow Slytherin, ruining his short-lived and uncharacteristic bid for anonymity. She glanced him up and down, and Rory suddenly felt a little bit sick. He totally hadn't planned for any of this! But, then again, she didn't look hostile, so Rory managed to find the small optimistic part of his mind that wasn't freaking out and took control of his limbs so he could get out of her way.

"You are zat ozzer one... Rory." Rory found himself nodding, his eyes fixedly on a point behind the girl's head as he tried to think of something clever to say. Something about her accent, maybe? But no, couldn't she take that the wrong way? And then, the brief moment was over and she moved on with a quiet greeting and Rory was left feeling decidedly out of place once more. He had no trouble talking to girls, or anyone else, back in Glasgow! He needed to say something... anything, to this... girl? Oh. Right. Her name. It must have been said at the sorting ceremony, but Rory could barely remember anything from that night. Everything had been so wild and unexpected. He took a step forward, his mouth opening as he rallied his courage to speak to his unknown house-mate.

"Why are you leaving? Is zis somezing private?" ... Rory was absolutely one-step behind this conversation, he decided, coming up blank once more as he at least managed to move out of the doorway and into the room, moving over to stand near his house-mate while shaking his head. Finally, he managed to get an answer out of his sticky and dry mouth.

“I was... I didn't know if anyone I knew was here. From Slytherin, I mean. I don't really know what's going on, yeh. I was just going for a walk and ended up here.” Rory tried to smile, hoping that he could reasonably conceal his slowly decreasing discomfort. This seemed to satisfy the girl, as she nodded and turned to face the rest of the group, her following question echoing Rory'sown.

"May I ask what it is everyone is even doing gazzered 'ere?" Rory glanced around the room, taking in the various students gathered here. Nothing obvious seemed to tie the students here together except for the large amounts of textbooks scattered around the room. That would seem to imply studying or academics back home, but this being magic Rory wasn't sure if he'd accidentally stumbled into the first meeting of the Dragon Appreciation Society instead.

… and he still didn't know the name of the only person he recognized in the room! This was not an auspicious start to the semester.

Kina gave a small smile as the girl on the table snorted at her cousin's polite introduction, and took Andrew's offered hand. "The pleasure is all mine," he said quietly to the two of them, and made towards the table. While he swung the strap of his satchel off his shoulders, a girl Bella who seemed to be quaking in her shoes and another Ravenclaw boy Morgan who looked like there was something weighing on his mind entered the room. By the time Kina had settled into his seat by the desk - taking care not to sit too close or else risk getting between the exchange between Hero and Morgan - with his satchel tucked neatly between his back and that of the chair, there were plenty of other kids who had come to join. Kina felt his eyes widen in bemusement, his mind scrambling to keep up with the stream of names that came paired with faces to place.

When the flow seemed to ebb - though Kina had an inkling there would be more to come - he began to take out one of his textbooks from his satchel to lay it on the desk. His fingers grazed over the spine of A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, feeling by memory the smooth hardback it had been before becoming the crinkled surface it now was. Kina had cracked it open in his bedroom after the trip to Diagon Alley, and then stayed up the entire night reading it until his eyes were dry and in pain but eating up every word they traversed upon. Even then, he hadn't been able to finish the book. The hours between sunrise and sundown of that day had been spent by the windowsill in a feverish attempt to know everything he could have possibly missed. He didn't think there had been any other day better spent than that, flipping the last page with the last sliver of dying light, almost winded by the years of heritage that had blown past him in a flurry of words and paragraphs.

The toes of Kina's scruffy sneakers swung lightly over the floor. He flipped the book open on his desk, never mind if he might be re-reading it. He knew with some odd certainty that the tales woven together in the text would come back to him as an old friend might - unfamiliar, and yet no stranger, illiciting odd memories that Kina could never distinguish from dreams. A second read would do Kina no harm.

One of the boys - Iorweth, was it? - mentioned in a thick cadence Professor Hagrid's lessons. He seemed to have a type of affinity to the class. Kina had come to Hogwarts expecting classes in stuffy rooms with PowerPoints on a screen, projecting images of fantastical and beautiful creatures like unicorns or perhaps an elf and slideshows with walls of information and facts about their biology and adaptations to the wild.

Instead, they had stood outside a hut with a smoking chimney as Professor Hagrid - a large man, who towered over them with an untamed beard and who might have been intimidating by size alone if he hadn't also had eyes that twinkled and crinkled when he smiled, which was often - told them about sphinxes, and pesky pixies; mentioned a herd of centaurs he could invite to class one day (as long as the planets were aligned and the stars didn't wink too ominously on the day itself, of course); waved to the sky as a silhouette flew overhead with a shrill echoing cry, casting a shadow on them, while Kina craned his neck to catch a better sight of the hippogriff before it disappeared.

It was a class that looked to be positively splendid, if Kina could begin to recognise the creatures by name before the end of the term. He looked down at the textbook before him, eyes catching onto words that sprang up from the page to him, bidding his distraction. Perhaps he should have brought the one by Newt Scamander instead. Or maybe he should start asking students like Iorweth for help in the subject. His sparse knowledge of Biology didn't stand to be applied much in Hogwarts.

In the silent library, Giles walked with a purpose past the few upper year Ravenclaws, who had tomes piled high on their tables, towards the musty section at the back. He searched the tall laden bookshelves, then picked out the thick, dusty volume of A History of Hogwarts: The Special Millenia Edition in lieu of more outdated versions. The boy held the large book in both hands and sat at an empty table away from any prying eyes. He flipped over the hard cover and traced a finger down the long list of contents before turning to page 2306; barely had he started squinting at the small font when he was startled by a sudden voice. “Chapter 145: The Sorting Hat,” the disembodied man began, sounding terribly bored and loud in the still air.

Angry footsteps immediately quickened towards him. Giles closed the book - it continued reciting, muffled - and was about to make for the shelves with it when the withered, thin librarian appeared, glaring at him down her hooked nose. Her black robes billowed in her haste like ominous wings. She did not look kindly or helpful from the stories his parents had told him of her. “Perhaps,” Madam Pince hissed, brandishing her wand and the book quieted, “you would like to follow the rules on the first day of school.”

A nearby sign on the wall read: Magical talking books must be muted in the library.

Giles bit his tongue to hold in a protest and apologised instead, embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful next time.”

Madam Pince looked at him intently, dark eyes roamed over his features and down his robes, like she was trying to recognise him. The boy gazed back, not the least daunted, and smiled. “My parents have frequently spoken fondly of you, Madam Pince,” he said to jolt her memory. “They send their regards.”

“Oh… yes… of course,” she nodded as realisation dawned on her. “You’ve grown since the Christmas card they sent me. You will not find what you’re looking for in this book, Mr Kingston,” At his look of surprise, she said, “You are not the first to seek a house transfer. Unfortunately, you'll find that the Sorting Hat is always correct and the rules of the Sorting unyielding. If you wish to read the regulations yourself, tap the book with your wand and say silencio to mute it.”

“Thank you.”

She left him with a word of advice: “It is not the house you’re in that would make your parents proud of you. Give them my best.”

Giles watched Madam Pince disappear round some shelves; her words were puzzling to the eleven year old. He looked down at the dull title and, with a certain determination, pulled out his wand.

* *

Sunset hues spilled through the great windows to colour the long arched corridor. With a heavy heart Giles was heading towards the Gryffindor tower. He paused in his step for his eye had caught a reflection in the pane that, for a moment, he thought he saw his father. Many of their family friends had commented they looked alike. Giles touched the scarlet and gold satin on his robes that was supposed to have been blue and bronze, like what the portraits wore that adorned home or his parents’ oversized robes he used to put on in the attic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He grimaced, feeling incongruent, and the reflection looked as if it was his father wearing it with a disapproving stare.

Their letter will arrive tomorrow, Giles thought morosely, expecting disappointment in their tone. ”My decision stands,” the Sorting Hat had said and from what he had read, Madam Pince was right. He sighed, the pane misted, and drew a smiley face with a wizard’s hat to cheer himself up. It jigged up and down in the seconds it had, which cracked a smile over the boy’s face.

Murmurs and a couple of thumps echoed faintly from down the corridor. Giles turned to see a few students around his age trickle into a side room. ”The study club!” he remembered excitedly as a brilliant idea struck him. ”If I do extremely well in school, they will see that I belong in Ravenclaw!” Hero, a fellow Gryffindor, had casually mentioned an open invitation in the common room earlier that day, so it was with gladness that Giles walked briskly into the room.

“Hello,” he greeted the crowd warmly, taking in the varied members of the group with confidence and ease. “Here for the study club. I’m Giles Kingston, first year, nice to meet everybody.”

There were three people talking about her in hushed tones, as though she couldn't hear them when she was only sitting a couple of feet away. Found the little one jus' outside me hut, small giant-man said for the tenth time that hour. The story of how he found her prowling along his hut changed a little each time he told it. This cannot happen again, the stern-looking lady said, and something in the tone of her voice made her believe it won't. The squishy-looking one that had a strangely calming presence agreed with everything the lady said, but he didn't look as upset.

Sat on a stool with nothing to do, Nova scratched her head and gritted her teeth, her extremely finite patience already at its end. They'd each spoken to her already, more or less saying the same things in different voices—Forbidden Forest this, Forbidden Forest that, you could have gotten hurt, blah blah blah. What more did they want from her? Her mum hadn't mentioned anything about this part of her first day.

But then again, her mum didn't warn her about the vehicle spawned from hell either.

Just the thought made her skin crawl. Nova has lost count of how many times she almost died or almost almost died in pursuit of XXXX and XXXXX class creatures. There was that time in Borneo when she very nearly got eaten by an Acromantula; that time she dozed off while flying with her mum and fell backwards off the broom; oh! there was also that time she thought an Occamy egg was a shiny rock and its mommy got really mad when she approached it. And that was only scratching the surface. Danger came hand-in-hand in the daily life of an Oswin, and she thought that had primed her to be fearless.

She was wrong.

Even the giant, carnivorous spider paled compared to the metal beast she was forced into. Nova may have lost track of her too many close encounters, but she can count the times she had succumbed to paralyzing fear in one hand. Two fingers, actually. Once, years ago, when her mum fell ill and remained bedridden for days. And today, while she was trapped in the belly of the Nightmare Express. She'd been unbalanced and woozy and it was so hard to breathe that she thought she'd die right then and there. Why on earth would anyone want to travel in a box with narrow walls and no way out?

"For now, let's get her sorted and off to bed. It's past curfew."

Nova looked up when the the three people finally stopped talking to each other. Her blue grey eyes warily flicked from one to the other as they approached, before lingering on the worn-looking hat the lady carried. She wondered what it was for, although she would find out soon enough.

After a bit of struggle with the talking(!) hat—long story short, she had to be lightly restrained—they eventually managed to force it onto her head and get her sorting on the way. The hat hummed for but a second before barking out a weird-sounding word she'd heard her mum mention once or twice before. Gryffindor. Small giant-man looked mildly disappointed, but nice man was happy. He guided her out to a tower, to the house of the red lions, where there were more people than she'd ever seen in her whole life.

Nova slept under her bed that night, out of sight and away from all the other girls she didn't even know.


Unlike the night before, the first day of classes ended without much incident... not that there was much chance for one. Every time she strayed from the path to her next class, or so much as edged toward the outskirts of the castle, someone conveniently popped up beside her to show her the way back. Nova couldn't believe her luck. It was like the Malaclaw week all over again! She only wanted a moment to get away—spending too much time indoors surrounded by strange people became very suffocating very quickly—but it seemed the head lady was serious about not getting a repeat of last night's incident.

As she scrambled out of her last class of the day, small giant-man Rubeus Hagrid was waiting right outside the classroom to greet her. He smiled and congratulated her with a well-deserved pat on the head for making it through the day, although he warned it wasn't over yet. There was one more stop she had to make, and he was to take her there after classes.

Nova harrumphed and made a face, brows furrowing deeply and nose scrunching, but she relented anyway. Even if it was his fault that she got caught and was lectured, she liked Hagrid a lot. He talked funny and he had a deep rumbling voice that soothed her and wide shoulders that made for a comfortable perch. She could tell right away that he adored creatures as much as her mum, and that was as good a sign as any that he wasn't a bad person.

As they walked along the corridors, Hagrid let Nova climb up his arm and drape herself over his shoulder, like she had done last night. It was a surefire way to get her to come along peacefully (Nova liked heights and the chance to tower over people for a change), and Hagrid picked up on it rather quickly. That was actually another reason she liked him: even though they'd only met, he seemed to understand her rather well. At least, better than the other people she'd met so far.

"Now, yeh remember Neville, don'tcha?" Hagrid asked as they rounded a corner.

Nova nodded slowly. "The lion king. Nice and squishy."

A hearty laugh rumbled out of Hagrid's chest and shook his shoulders. "Yeah, that's 'im. He wants yeh to join this group some o' yer classmates have started. Said it might help yeh adjust."

"NO!" Nova thrashed about, kicking her legs and flailing an arm in a little temper tantrum. She would have jumped off his shoulder and scurried far, far away if he hadn't held onto her. From what she'd experienced earlier in the day, other people were just no good. Humans were difficult to understand and weird, nothing at all like magical creatures she had come to know as well as herself.

"It's not summat yeh can say no to, I'm afraid." As though sensing her rising tension, he gave her another gentle pat on the head, and while it didn't completely calm her down, now she only hissed and pouted.

They came to a stop in front of a room, which Hagrid pointed out as their destination, just as a dark-haired boy slipped inside. Nova stiffened, glaring at the door as though she could scare it away, and grabbed a fistful of Hagrid's robe easily to hold onto. Even then, it took Hagrid no effort at all to lift her off his shoulder and settle her down on the ground next to him.

"I don't want to go," she tried again, shaking her head profusely.

Hagrid crouched down and gave her a comforting smile. "Don' yeh worry, Nova. I promise Yeh'll come ter like it soon enough."

He ushered her in then, and try as she might to dig her heels into the concrete floor, there was no fighting Hagrid's sheer strength. With resistance rendered futile, Nova resorted to hiding behind the not-too-giant giant instead, poking her head out just enough to keep her eyes trained on the members of the group. There were so many of them, she wasn't sure who to watch out for! Although, Nova already picked out the ones to not. Like the super skinny boy with dark curls; or the tall, dark-skinned girl that made her think of a harmless flower; or even the other girl with hair like fire. Nova was sure she could easily take them on, if they were on their own. But if they were anything like a pack of wolves, they wouldn't take to outsiders at all. She'd be no match against their numbers.

"Sorry ter interrupt yeh fellas," Hagrid nodded to the group, smiling as he spotted familiar faces and greeting the two Hufflepuffs among them. He cast a worried glance behind him, where Nova stood with her back hunched, knees bent and feet firmly on the ground, and teeth bared. The girl looked about ready to pounce, and he wasn't so certain that she wouldn't go through with it.

Still, he pushed her forward and offered a brief introduction. "This here is Nova and she'll be joinin' yeh're group, if tha's okay."

Hagrid turned to Nova before he left, hoping a quick escape to the forest would be an incentive for her to cooperate. "Yeh can come visit me hut when yeh're all done. I'll let yeh feed the Hippogriff!"

Nova watched Hagrid duck under the door frame with a deep-set frown and only turned to the group when he disappeared into the corridors. She stayed rooted where she was and was back to warily eying the others, anticipating any sudden movements. There was no one she knew by name, although she was sure she must have seen some of them in class. The only ones that were even the slightest bit familiar was the girl with yellow hair and the dark-haired boy who came in just before her. Fellow lions.

Okay…so what was she supposed to do now?

The boy seemed nice enough as it was, Andrew, or whatever his name was, but Hero seemed to be a bit of a mean... person. Bella took a deep breath and kind of sunk back as more people made their way into the new study room. No one was talking to her and she shrunk up a little bit. Many of the people looked or seemed nice... but she was not completely sure. Only two other Hufflepuffs were in the room with her at the moment, but even she didn't know who they were, so she didn't talk to them.

Kina, the boy who came in before her, seemed very nice, even a little bit shy. He was quite cute, in the way he talked and moved, and in his appearance. He had a sort of nervous appearance about him as well, as if he was nervous to be here almost as much as she was. As more and more people continued to enter and Bella was sort of shoved into a corner. She was not talked to nor even acknowledged after the beginning introductions. She hugged her arms close to her sides and tried to sink back into the corner. Rory and the French girl began talking and Bella knew immediately to avoid them. She didn't feel as if they were going to be too friendly.

Come on, Bella. Go and talk to at least one of them, she thought to herself and she felt her body immediately turn toward the familiar and start walking toward one of the Hufflepuffs. She forced herself to stop and look around. No one from the same house! she yelled at herself in her mind. Be daring. Be... daring. She turned at looked at all of the different people in the room at that time and took a deep breath. What was she going to do? She didn't exactly want to talk to any of the Slytherins... none of them seemed like nice people. The Gryffindor seemed a bit full of herself and the Ravenclaws might make fun of her for her intellect.

Finally making up her mind, she inched her way around everyone and went and sat down at one of the tables. She pulled out A History of Magic and immediately opened it in front of her. She hadn't noticed that Kina had pulled it out as well. She opened it to the page that she had been reading on and began to skim over it, trying to force out some of the noise. She couldn't deal with this right now. If anyone wanted to talk to her... they could come over. She was actually going to study, as that was what she thought they were going to do here to begin with. She pulled out her wand and set down on the table next to her and looked closely at the little text. She peered over her shoulder for a brief moment, looking back at all the talking people, before ducking her head back down and continuing to read.