prologue
The storm rolled in like a living thing, its fingers of lightning clawing at the fractured sky as the boy watched from the canoe's edge. It felt an omen, a warning of the evening to come. He could not begin to fathom the size of the castle looming ahead, its outline highlighted by the violent and erratic flashing of the lightning. It was bigger than anything he had ever seen on the run with his mother, much larger than the stone buildings and relics they would pass in the countryside in while driving the car they had stolen that week. He was only eleven and knew his concept of the world was limited at best. Still, Neil couldn’t help his wide eyes and dropped jaw as the castle began to loom closer, the rough waves lapping at the bottom of the canoe.
There were only a few other children within the small canoe, most of whom had similar expressions of disbelief on their face. All except for one. A blonde on the row in front of Neil viewed the looming storm and ginormous with a startling lack of expression, his face a blank mask of boredom and apathy. An identical boy sitting next to him, however, was staring straight up at the largest tower on the horizon, the beginnings of an unbelieving smile spreading across his face.
Neil ignored them and the only other occupant, a girl sitting near the prow, in favor of staring over the side of the canoe, gaping at the deep, black water. There were no oars on this canoe, nor the other numerous canoes cutting through the water on either side of Neil. He couldn’t believe his eyes, did not understand how it was happening.
Magic, his mother said. It was how she explained all the strange and inexplicable things that happened on their travels. Whenever they needed to light a fire and didn’t have any matches, when one of his father’s lackeys got too close and suddenly his clothes would catch on fire, whenever Neil and his mother were in such a close bind that no way out seemed possible.
His mother would lean in, after those moments, and whisper gently in his ear, “It’s just magic, Nathaniel. Do not worry, my love, magic will save us.” He never truly knew what she meant, never answered his questions beyond that simple explanation. Even now as he gazed as the oarless canoes cutting clear through the rough waves, he heard her phantom voice in his ear once more.
“Magic, Nathaniel. It’s just magic.”
He still did not understand it, had questions bouncing around in his head. How were they moving? What were those lights around the castle? It did not feel safe, he did not feel safe. He felt untethered, a lifeless bobber floating helplessly out at sea. He missed his mom, missed the comfort of having her at his back.
But once he remembers his mother’s body lifeless on the ground once more, Neil knows he has no choice but to move forward. Always forward, never back.
He purposefully lifts his gaze from the unnerving oarless canoes and forces himself to focus on the other boats around him. Other children around his age filled them, all gazing toward the castle ahead with varying looks of nerves or excitement. Neil wonders where they came from, whether they’re running towards sanctuary like him or simply taking the next step of their education. From what little he had gathered, some families or parents like his own also knew magic and surrounded their kids with it from a young age. Others, he had surmised, came from ‘normal’ families (he did know if such a thing even existed) and randomly discovered magic on their own.
Neil considered himself smart, quick-thinking, forced on him by his mother from years on the run. But even now, he found himself outmatched, his mind unable to comprehend the monstrosity of a building ahead of him. It’s numerous, twisting towers and walls and contraptions formed the largest thing Neil had ever seen. It only grew as the canoes drew closer to the small dock on the shore, lit up by floating candles and illuminating a path up towards the castle.
He suddenly felt a spike of alarm at how close they were. He felt as if the past hours and day had been moving so slowly, as though trying to run through water or moving through thick cobwebs. But now, all of a sudden, he was here. Where he would be, for likely the next seven years.
Unless they don’t take you, a quiet voice in the back of his mind mutters, sounding suspiciously like his father’s drawl. He forces the thought out of his mind as the boat bumps against the wooden dock, jarring its occupants. The lead canoe had already unloaded and began trudging to the shore, led by a tall, fearsome man with dark tattoos running up his forearms. He carried a large lantern in his hand, matching the one on the prow of each canoe. He began to shout instructions to the fellow canoes pulling into the dock, his deep voice setting Neil on edge immediately. He didn’t trust older men, and especially not ones who seemed to enjoy ordering a bunch of eleven-year-olds around.
The identical twins and the other girl in front of him stood up, the girl carrying the lantern with her. They began to dismount onto the dock, and Neil reluctantly followed. He felt his breathing begin to quicken as they joined the classmates in walking up the dark path to the lit castle and could not help the feeling of dread pooling in his stomach.
This was it, the moment he had been running towards. This was his mother’s final sacrifice, her final gift for him. He would not mess this up. Resolve soon joined the rush of emotions flooding him, slightly overcoming his nerves but not dispelling their existence entirely.
However, he was momentarily pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by a blank look from one of the short blonde twins. Neil couldn’t even classify it as judgmental, or hateful, or even consisting of any kind of emotion. Nonetheless, he felt it cut through his nerves and anxious thoughts as clean and precise as a blade would.
Unbidden Neil felt his hackles rise and arched a brow at the short boy in return. He simply turned around and rejoined his brother without a word. Neil shook off the interaction as strange, and assumed he would have to get used to plenty of strange people in his experience here. A magic society clustered within a giant magic castle calls for some leniency when judging its occupants (or in the blonde dwarf’s case: soon-to-be occupant).
They continued along the tree path for quite some time, and Neil used the time to his advantage. He tried to take note and memorize each of the faces around him, keeping track of anyone at his back and the quickest way out of the moving crowd. He heard murmured conversations around him, anxious voices discussing what they thought was next. He heard names exchanged, nervous laughs quietly echoing through the dark thicket. The man at the front held the lantern high and continued to shout encouraging (if somewhat demeaning) words to the group, urging them forward. Neil tried not to cringe as people pressed into him, as groups huddled together as if to assure themselves of safety in numbers. He once again longed for his mother’s comforting presence at his back, leaning into him and keeping him safe.
Eventually, they reached the base of the castle, looking up the stone stairs that led to a grand set of doors. The tattooed man climbed a few stairs to loom and look over the frightened group of children and cleared his throat loudly.
“Alright, listen up so we can get this over with quickly. I’m Professor Wymack, you will call me Professor Wymack. Soon enough, you will join the rest of the students here in our esteemed castle, but first,” he says with a weary, long-suffering tone, “you will have to go through the sorting ceremony. You will have a talking hat put on your head (if I hear one word about lice) and it will divide you into one of four houses, based on your personality or belief ya-da ya-da. That house will be your family here for the next seven years, got it so far?”
There were hesitant looks exchanged around Neil, confused at his flippant attitude. Neil himself found himself increasingly perplexed by the nature of this place and began to wonder if “magic” affected people in the head a bit.
“The first house, also the best, is Gryffindor, home of the brave. I’m the head of house there, so if you’re sorted there you’ll be seeing quite a bit of me.” There were a few murmurs after that statement. “The next is Ravenclaw, they value knowledge and intelligence or some shit. Then there’s Hufflepuff with their love of loyalty and the like. And finally, Slytherin, for all you ambitious folk.” He clapped his hands together and seemed overly satisfied by the confused and overwhelmed faces looking back at him.
“If there’s no questions,” he stopped to glare at a raised hand until it lowered, “we’ll be going now.” And so, with a breath of reluctance and more than a touch of nausea, Neil followed the tattooed man through the grand double doors and into the marbled halls of the castle. They went down a variety of halls and pathways and stairs that Neil tried his best to memorize for a quick escape, but soon found himself dizzy and overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place. Before long they ended up in front of another set of double doors, this time inlaid with gold and practically sparkling with a variety of designs, curved of marble and jewels.
“Alright, everyone ready?” Wymack pauses to say before surveying the shuffling group behind him and, without further ado, flings the wide doors open.
Neil’s eyes widen even further as he takes in the massive room in front of him, four long tables stretched out with a large aisleway that Wymack began striding down. The rest of the group also seemed startled by the grand room ahead and the numerous faces peering back at them. Most of the older kids’ expressions seemed amused by the sight of the frightened kids pausing in the doorway, while others laughed or smiled softly at the nervous kids.
Wymack halted halfway down the aisle before turning around with another long-suffering look and gestured at the first years to follow him. This seemed to break most of them out of their reverie, and the group began to shuffle forwards through the crowded room. This time, Neil wasn’t so bothered by the bodies pressing in around him, and simply imagined them as a human shield against the stares.
Eventually the slow-moving group reached the front of the room, before a long table facing perpendicular to the other four rows and was headed by a dark-haired man who regarded them with a solemn and expressionless look. He stood with a regal air before introducing himself:
“Greetings, future and current students, and welcome to the annual Sorting Ceremony. I am Headmaster Moriyama, and the leader of this school. Let us begin with the ceremony.” Without any further words or explanations, the man sat down again and looked to Wymack, who again clapped his hands.
“Alright, everyone, you heard the man.” Wymack stepped up beside a wooden stool and a worn hat that Neil hadn’t noticed until then. He had been too focused on Kengo Moriyama, his father’s boss. He felt a chill run down his spine before reminding himself of his mother’s deal, her gift bought with her life. His protection. He would be safe here. His father could not hurt him here.
Wymack dragged the stool in front of the group before brandishing a piece of paper from the pocket of his black robe. He cleared his throat and read off a name. Neil was startled for a moment until a girl with dark hair stepped forward and sat on the stool. Wymack placed the hat (very old and disgusting looking, Neil noted) on her head, and to his amazement, the hat moved. He instinctively took a step backward and bumped into someone behind him. The person then shoved him forward slightly, as if Neil had run into them purposefully. Neil whirled around and glared at the person, who turned out to be the short blonde from earlier. He hadn’t seen him or his brother since leaving the boat and was startled to find both of them standing directly behind him. The one who shoved him, or at least the one he thought did, was looking impassively at Neil’s glare as if he couldn’t be bothered by Neil’s ire. That only served to stoke Neil’s anger more fiercely, and only the sound of a creakily, worn voice caused him to turn back around to view the scene ahead.
“Gryffindor!” the voice had said, and Neil whipped his head around to find who said it and came up empty. The hat was being pulled off the girl’s head by Wymack, and she rushed to one of the four tables, where she was welcomed with cheers and loud shouts of joy. Banners of red and gold ran above the table, and Neil was intrigued to find that each of the tables had certain colors hovering above.
A new name was called off and a boy stepped forward. This time, Neil watched intently to see where the creepy voice had come from, and to his utter and abject horror, it came from the hat itself. He was beginning to regret the day he learned of magic, because no one else in the vicinity seemed even slightly concerned about the fact that a hat of all things was talking. They’re all insane, Neil promptly decided.
He was soon pulled out of his thoughts by his own name being read off by Wymack. Of course, it wasn’t his real name, but the last one he used with his mother.
“Neil Josten.”
With one last gulp of trepidation, Neil stepped forward and sat on the stool beside Wymack. The crusty hat was soon placed on his head, and Neil began to revise his former statement when the hat started talking. In his head. Neil was not surrounded by insane people: he was insane.
“Hmmmmmmm, Neil, was it? How young, yet how many lives have you lived, hmm? What should I call you, really? Alex? Chris? Stefan?” Neil involuntarily flinched at the sound of past names, past lives when he had been running with his mother. How the hell did the hat know that? Was it seeing into his mind?
“What a curious soul you have, Nathaniel. Seeking so many answers, yet none answered. A life of a rabbit, you’ve lived, always running. Yet I see all you crave and yearn for. Yes, indeed. You crave it all, don’t you, Abram? A normal life, with a mother who is gentle and a father who is kind. You crave perfection, complete mastery with the things you obsess over. Yes, I know you, and I know exactly where to put you.” Neil was shaking from the words in his head, despite knowing that no one else could hear. Surely they could hear his pounding heart? Or his rushing blood?
“Slytherin!” the hat calls out, and this time Neil knows that everyone can hear its voice. A loud cheering comes from one of the tables, underneath banners of silver and green, and Neil steps off the stool shakily to make his way over. A spot is cleared for him, next to a black-haired boy who looks not much older than Neil.
The boy gives Neil an appraising look, then holds out a hand to shake.
“Hi, I’m Kevin Day.”