The Girl Who Survived the Train Ride
Sitting in one of the many compartments of the Hogwarts Express, I’m practically bouncing in my seat.
I can hear people squeezing through the corridors, trying to find an empty compartment or awkwardly asking strangers to share one. Oh, the sweet scent of collective discomfort!
There’s nothing in the world quite like the first day of school! The smell of new school supplies, books that still have that fresh paper scent, clean and crisp uniforms, and shoes polished to a shine. Of course, I’m not wearing my uniform yet, because I was smart and asked Professor McGonagall—who was the one who visited my home to explain all this magic stuff to my family—how long the train ride would be.
Six hours! There’s no way I’d put on my uniform right at the start and arrive looking like a crumpled sock.
No, I’m wearing baggy jeans with multiple cargo pockets, a loose black T-shirt that says “I’m not weird, you’re just basic” on the front, with Homer Simpson showing his butt on the back, and to top it off, a pair of classic Converse. Stylish, I know.
I noticed all the looks I got from other people who showed up early at Platform 9¾, but I didn’t care much—there were bearded guys in dresses and a lady literally wearing an entire raven on her hat.
The wizarding world clearly has a thing for eccentric fashion!
My parents had to go to work—like the responsible, normal people they are—so they dropped me off early and said their goodbyes before hurrying off to their respective jobs. Dad’s an accountant and Mom’s a secretary. No, she’s not Dad’s secretary. No clichés here.
I feel movement in my lap and glance down at the little black furball curled up between my legs. A thin tail twitches lazily.
The letter said I could bring a pet, and it seemed like the perfect chance to get a black cat. I mean, it’d be a crime to be a witch without one.
Snow White—that’s my cat’s name—is still a kitten. I usually shorten it to Snow, and it always delights me when people do a double-take after realizing the cat is entirely black.
The train’s just about to leave when the compartment door finally slides open and I see a girl with bushy hair and prominent front teeth poke her head in.
“Hi, I’m Hermione Granger. Mind if I sit here?” she asked, and I straightened up instantly.
Okay. Time to make new friends.
The train gives a little lurch and starts to move. It’s slow at first, and I catch a glimpse of random parents waving goodbye out the window. Hermione’s watching intently too, but I suspect her parents already left after seeing her onto the train.
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound chill as I scoot over on the cushioned seat. Oh, right—I should introduce myself! “My name’s Eleanore Clark, but you can call me Leo.”
Eleanore sounds so old-fashioned. Leo is way cooler.
Outside, the view quickly shifts from London’s concrete jungle to a greener, more wooded landscape. Not quite countryside yet, but almost there.
“This is so exciting!” Hermione said, practically bouncing with the same energy I felt. I mean, who wouldn’t be excited? We’re literally about to learn real magic, people. “I’ve been reading tons of books about the wizarding world since I found out. Oh, I don’t even know if you’re from a non-magical family too!”
“I think the word they use is Muggle, but yeah, I’m Muggle-born,” I nodded. I remembered the term being used by the professor who looked like the classic storybook witch: old, black robes, pointy hat... the only thing missing was a wart on her nose and a black cat. “I’ve read a few things too, mostly about magic itself.”
“Oh, I focused more on history, but I also read all the schoolbooks for this year because I just couldn’t help myself. Magical theory is so interesting—I even tried practicing a few spells...” Hermione kept rambling, and I blinked at the flood of information.
She read all the textbooks? Before school even started?
Wow.
Outside, I see grassy fields stretching over hills dotted with scattered trees, and up ahead there’s a forest. The train tracks lead over it on an elevated bridge instead of running through it. It’s going to be a stunning view.
The door opens again.
This time, it’s a chubby, blond boy with flushed cheeks. Cute—except for the frog.
Yes, the boy was walking around holding an actual frog in his hand. Ever heard of a proper cage? Also, I’m pretty sure that’s not comfortable for the frog. As far as I know, frogs are amphibians—they need moist environments, not dry, sweaty hands on a train at the tail end of summer.
Also, I just don’t like frogs. Sticky little creatures. Ugh.
“H-hi...” he mumbled something after that, but I couldn’t guess what it was to save my life. Was he casting a curse on me? I hope not—I haven’t learned how to block that yet.
“What?” I asked. Seriously hoping it’s not a curse.
“Speak up,” Hermione requested—demanded?—gently but firmly. She’s a bit bossy, huh? But not in a mean way.
“M-my name’s N-Neville Longbottom,” he said, hesitating. Okay, not a curse. “C-can I sit here? T-the other c-compartments are full.”
I hesitated. Neville wasn’t going to be the best conversation partner with all that shyness, but I wasn’t going to make him stand in the hallway the whole trip. I take pride in not being a jerk. Besides, he might be nice. Appearances can be deceiving and all that.
I shrugged. “Sure, take a seat. I’m Leo.”
“What’s your frog’s name?” Hermione asked without missing a beat. “Oh, I’m Hermione, by the way!”
Why’d she have to bring up the damn frog?
“Trevor,” Neville replied, seeming less shy when the focus shifted. “He’s a Rhaebo guttatus.”
“Is that a magical breed?” Hermione asked, looking way too interested. In a frog. Who gets interested in frogs?
“D-dunno. I don’t think so,” Neville answered uncertainly.
“Shouldn’t he be in a proper tank?” I couldn’t help but ask. Okay, I’m trying to be nice, but why—why—did it have to be a frog?
“T-the tank’s in my trunk,” he explained. “I-I didn’t want Trevor to be alone in the dark. That would be scary.”
Honestly, I think Trevor would’ve preferred it. Not that I’m gonna say that to the kid.
Neville sets Trevor down on the seat beside him. I make a mental note to avoid that area of the compartment.
A glance out the window shows tree canopies stretching far into the distance. The sky is clear and blue, just a few decorative clouds floating by—no real threat of rain.
“Y-you have a kitten?” Neville asked, casting a cautious but curious glance at the furball in my lap. I turn my attention back to them.
“Oh! I didn’t notice!” Hermione snapped her attention to me, eyes wide. “Is it a boy or a girl? What’s her name? How old is she?”
“She’s a kitten. I adopted her as a newborn, about three months ago,” I explained, carefully lifting her so they could see—but I didn’t offer her to be pet. Not to be rude, but kittens are fragile. “She’s a girl. Her name is Snow White.”
“Oh, she’s so cu—wait, what?” Hermione suddenly stopped mid-gush, confused.
“Snow Whi—”
“But... she’s black,” Hermione said, stunned.
“Huh? No, she’s white,” I replied confidently. Obviously, she’s black.
“But I see black,” Hermione insisted.
“She’s a magical cat,” I explained. “This breed reflects the color of a person’s soul.”
I watched Neville’s eyes widen. He saw black too—what did that say about his poor soul? Hermione looked more skeptical.
“I’ve never heard of a cat like that,” she argued.
“Are you a magical cat expert?” I asked, impressed. If she said yes, I’d be floored—that would be cool as hell.
“Well, no...”
“Then how do you know?” I shot back. “Besides, I see white.”
Now Hermione looked troubled too, casting a cautious look at the unassuming kitten.
Should I clarify? A better person would. Someone wise, enlightened, maybe even close to Nirvana.
Too bad that’s not me. This is hilarious!
“Where’s Trevor? Trevor!” Neville suddenly began looking around in a panic, distracting Hermione from her minor existential crisis, while I quietly started to panic too.
Oh. My. God.
Where’s the frog? It could be anywhere!
You know that moment when you see a cockroach in your room, go get something to kill it, and come back to find it gone? Seeing it is bad. Not seeing it is worse. That’s exactly what I’m feeling now that Trevor is missing.
Hermione jumps in to help Neville search.
Shit. Why’d it have to be a frog?!
You know what? I’m pulling a Titanic great-grandma and abandoning ship.
I picked up Snow and tucked her into one of the cargo pockets on my leg—no chance of forgetting she’s there and sitting on her.
“I think I’ll, uh... go check outside,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the door.
“But the door hasn’t opened since we came in. He couldn’t have left,” Hermione reasoned.
“He might be a magical frog with incredible escape skills,” I said lamely. Can’t I come up with a better excuse? Nope. “I’ll just check to be sure.”
“Hmm, all right, you’re right,” Hermione nodded. “Go right. If we don’t find him here, we’ll search left afterward.”
“Brilliant,” I said with a nervous smile before fleeing.
(Leo didn’t see the frog sneak out when the door opened earlier.)
Right, right, right. I walked away from that cursed compartment, silently praying the frog would be gone by the time I had to change into my Hogwarts uniform. Luckily, my clothes were safely packed in a box to keep them clean and wrinkle-free. Thank Merlin my mom’s a cautious woman—side effect of being a secretary at a law firm—because I wouldn’t dare put those robes on without knowing Trevor hadn’t slimed them.
I wandered down the corridor, wondering what I could do to pass the time stuck on this train but exiled from my own compartment.
What a dilemma.
I skip a little down the corridor until I’m forced to stop in front of an elderly woman pushing a trolley full of sweets. The sweets are very pretty, but I’ve always been one of those people who’s suspicious of food that looks too pretty. In my humble experience, very pretty food usually doesn’t taste as good as it looks. I always end up paying a small fortune for something that’s not even that great and feel bad about the waste.
Ugly sweets, on the other hand, are often delicious! I don’t understand why, but I accept that this is just how the universe works. Take Mum’s cakes, for example: they always break when she tries to take them out of the tin and end up looking like a muddy mess with way too much frosting—but they’re amazing.
That said, I don’t really feel like buying anything from the trolley. But, ugh, I am hungry, and I forgot to pack a lunch. Actually, I didn’t forget—I just figured I wouldn’t need one and that the train would offer something other than sweets...
A door opens beside me. A pair of red-haired heads pop out, focused on the elderly woman, the noble bearer of take-away cavities. Hmm, I wonder if Hogwarts has good dental coverage? No, wait—more importantly, is this old lady like the witch from Hansel and Gretel, fattening children up to eat them later?
That would be kind of funny if she were. Can you picture the scene? I have to hold in a laugh because I think it’d be a bit rude to explain my train of thought.
“Hello, dears, want some sweets?” the woman asks the twins—obviously twins—and includes me in the offer when she notices me loitering nearby with no real purpose except wasting time.
“That depends, dear lady,” one of the twins says.
“On how much you charge,” adds the other.
“For the Every Flavour Beans,” the first one finishes. Wow, now I wish I had a twin too.
“A bag of Every Flavour Beans is 20 Sickles,” the woman replies with a playful smile at their antics, though the twins visibly deflate at the price.
“You didn’t bring anything from home?” I ask, just curious. I didn’t bring anything either, but I was prepared to buy something. I just expected more options.
“Mum packed us some snacks,” one of them says after hesitating a second and glancing at me.
“But we wanted to play a game with the beans,” the other adds with a shrug.
“Perfect!” I declare with a grin, then turn to the woman. “Two bags of Every Flavour Beans, please!”
I pull the coins from the unnecessarily large pocket of my trousers. It’s practical, okay? I live in London—pickpockets are a real concern, so big, deep pockets are just extra protection to make sure no one can fish out my money easily.
Question: When life gives you lemons?
Answer: Sell them and buy something better.
The twins look confused as I turn back to them with a bag of sweets in each hand. “Shall we make a deal?”
Both their eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into their red hair, and matching grins spread across their faces. They part like royal guards to let me pass into their compartment, as if I were a princess and they, my loyal escort. I march in with my chin held high.
There’s another boy inside—Black, with braids. All three boys are older than me, but that’s okay. They can’t hurt me the way boys sometimes hurt girls. That was one of the things that worried my parents when they found out Hogwarts was a co-ed boarding school. Apparently, there are strong magical protections throughout the grounds to prevent that kind of thing. The train, according to Hogwarts: A History, is considered part of Hogwarts and therefore shares in the protections.
Knowing that, I force myself to relax and plop down on the bench beside the boy as the twins sit across from us.
“So...” one of them starts.
“Negotiation?” the other finishes. Do they always talk like this? That sounds exhausting.
“A trade... or a split, I don’t know,” I shrug. A full-on trade might be too much—I’d leave one of them without lunch. “I give you the beans, and you give me part of your food.”
“You want...”
“our...”
“food?”
“Yeah, I thought there’d be something to eat here, but it’s just sweets.” I shrug again. “If I’d known, I would’ve brought something from home too.”
The twins blink, surprised. Is it really that strange that I don’t want to gorge myself on candy? Don’t get me wrong—I love sweets with all my heart—but I’m a growing girl. I need more than sugar to survive.
The boy beside me clears his throat.
“First things first: hi, I’m Lee Jordan.” He offers his hand for a shake, and I take it with a nod.
“Eleanore Clark, but you can call me Leo,” I introduce myself.
“Leo? Why?” Lee asks.
“It’s cooler than my full name.” Shouldn’t that be obvious? Then again, wizards have weird naming tastes, if the books I read are anything to go by.
“I’m Gred,” one twin says.
“I’m Forge,” says the other.
Like I said: weird naming tastes.
“Actually, they’re Fred and George,” Lee clarifies when he realizes the twins won’t.
Ah, so their names are normal—they just mash them. Mashed names always sound a little odd. Is that a twin thing? Or just these twins? Generalizations aren’t nice, I remind myself.
“Nice to meet you,” I wave at the two of them before crossing my arms and leaning back like a mafia boss. “So, do we have a deal or not?”
They put on solemn faces and turn their backs, whispering to each other. One of them—Fred?—sneaks a glance at me before returning to whisper more intensely.
“One condition: you can’t change your mind after seeing Mum’s food,” one of them says, and I’m a little relieved they’ve stopped switching back and forth to finish each other’s sentences.
“Here’s my counteroffer: I give you one bag of beans, you give me the food, and I try it. If I like it, I give you the other bag.” I raise an eyebrow. “Deal?”
The twins rest their hands under their chins in matching contemplative poses before one nods.
“Deal.”
Without another word, I toss one of the bean bags at one of the twins — not sure which — and wait for them to grab their lunchbox. The two play along, acting like gangsters making an illegal deal, with one of them sneaking the food out from the other’s clothes while throwing furtive glances my way.
I have to fight the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
Then they both face me, hands behind their backs and solemn expressions, and present the homemade container like a sacred offering. With my nose in the air and using only my fingertips, I open the lunchbox in the snobbiest way humanly possible.
Thick sandwiches filled with ham, cheese, tomato, arugula, and bacon. A solid cold meal for a trip.
I toss my brown hair over my shoulder and pick up the sandwich with two fingers, raising it just enough to take a bite. I don’t ignore the three boys watching me with expectant eyes.
Damn, this is good.
Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react.
I pause to keep my face blank. “Hmph, acceptable,” I say before handing over the other bag of beans.
When I see the offended expressions of the twins and how they’re about to argue, I grab the sandwich and retreat to the corner of the compartment, taking big, fast bites in case they try to steal it back. I end up with my mouth so full my cheeks are puffed out like a squirrel’s, and the three boys stare at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fit that much food in their mouth at once,” Lee comments.
“Girls usually eat like birds — I thought their mouths were smaller,” one of the twins says, equally shocked.
“Hey, you’re not gonna choke on Mum’s food, right?” the other twin asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
“Humg jbjhxj htruiute,” I reply while trying to swallow.
Okay, maybe I overdid it a little.
“Well, at least we know she really liked the food,” one of the twins says, still a little stunned, but recovering. I give him a thumbs-up since my mouth is still full.
A beat of silence.
Then the three boys burst into hysterical laughter.
“She looks like a squirrel!”
“Did you see how fast she stuffed it in?!”
“That’s gotta be a record! Guys, guys, I think… I think she beat Ron!”
And that only makes them laugh harder.
Who's Ron?
Yeah, I have a gift, people. Always have. Born this way — blessed with the ability to eat massive amounts of food. A very useful talent, I might add, especially when I’m late for school and need to finish a full meal in under two minutes. Considering I’ve never been a morning person, I’ve trained this skill to perfection.
I finally manage to swallow everything and flash them a toothless smile, pretending the whole scene never happened. Never. Ever.
“Sooo,” I sing, and the boys look like they’re holding back another fit of laughter whenever they glance at my face, “what was the game you wanted to play that needed the beans?”
That’s enough to distract them, because they instantly perk up to explain the game:
“Right! That’s true!” one of the twins — let’s call him Forge, since at least the ‘F’ gives me a shot at guessing Fred — says, “You’re a first year, right? Have you ever tried Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans?”
“Never. I’m from a Muggle family,” I say, peeking at the candy bags in their hands, realizing I hadn’t paid them much attention before. “What’s the deal?”
“Well, they’re every flavour,” the other says redundantly. That’s literally the name of the candy.
“Really? Never would’ve guessed,” I reply, voice drier than the Sahara.
“Yeah, and the game is we take turns eating one, and the others have to guess what flavour we got,” Gred finishes explaining.
“I think Leo should go first,” Lee tells the twins, and they exchange a meaningful glance that makes me instantly suspicious. People may not believe it, but I can tell when someone’s trying to prank me.
“Great idea!” the twins agree in unison.
Still, I’ll play along — what’s the worst that could happen? Could be fun.
I shrug, wait for Gred to open one of the bags, and reach inside, feeling the smooth candy under my fingers. I grab one and toss it straight into my mouth so they don’t see the colour and get a clue.
It was fine at first. It took a second for the outer shell to melt and for the bean’s flavour to hit my palate. As soon as it did, my body tensed.
I got it. I finally understood what the twins meant.
The sadist who made this candy took the name way too literally.
Okay. Okay. No reaction. You’re not going to spit it out. You’re not going to gag. Just swallow. Discreetly. Slowly.
The three boys are inches from my face, studying every micro-expression, waiting for me to break and reveal the flavour.
Nope. That was their plan all along, I know it. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let them win that easily.
I manage to swallow it. Hopefully, I still have some normal gum in one of my pockets to erase this nasty charcoal aftertaste.
I smile.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask as innocently as possible.
I really hope not all the beans are like that. There have to be some good ones, right? Who would eat something so awful on purpose? Who pays to be tortured by a candy? I’m starting to think wizards are all insane.
“Hmm... maybe she got lucky?” Lee says, suspiciously, to no one in particular.
“No... did you see her with Mum’s food? She’s good at pretending,” Gred says, eyes narrowed on my face, and I work hard to keep my expression neutral.
“I think it was bad,” Forge says, thoughtful. “That first reaction gave it away. Did you see how her back tensed before relaxing? It was bad, and she was surprised.”
The three of them fall silent, staring at my face, and I decide to give them a hint: I lick my lips. Subtle but effective. You don’t lick your lips after eating something gross.
...At least I think you don’t.
Too late now.
“I think it was a surprising but tasty flavour,” Lee says.
“Yeah, beginner’s luck and all,” Gred agrees, though he doesn’t look thrilled. He clearly wanted me to get a nasty one, the sadist.
“This one’s tough,” Forge murmurs, still thinking. “But I’m sticking to my guess: it was a bad flavour.”
Then they all look at me, waiting to see who got it right.
Part of me wants to keep the secret going just to torture them a little longer, but I’m enjoying this game — might as well keep it moving.
“It was charcoal,” I admit, nodding toward Forge as the round’s winner.
Forge raises his arms in triumph. “Yes!”
“Alright, my turn,” Lee says, already reaching into the bag.
Now that I know those beans are basically biological warfare, I’ll be way more cautious next time.
The rounds continue:
Lee: earwax;
Gred: cotton candy;
Forge: vomit;
Leo: caramel (thank god);
Lee: grass;
Gred: manure;
Forge: broccoli;
…
I’m traumatized.
I don’t think I’ll ever eat regular beans the same way again.
Knowing that somewhere out there, there’s a bean that tastes like vomit — not by accident, but on purpose, as a treat — makes me question the entire course of human evolution.
Where did it all go so wrong?
Yep.
This is my first official day in the wizarding world, and I’m already emotionally scarred for life. That was fast, even for me.
“Nice shirt,” says Gred, now sprawled across the opposite bench looking much more comfortable than when I arrived.
Apparently, I passed some sort of secret test, because all three boys seem pretty relaxed around me now.
Snow is playing on my stomach.
The boys thought her name was hilarious. They actually have good taste.
“Thanks, man.”
Maybe it was when I cracked after eating the poop-flavoured bean.
Yeah, going through traumatic experiences together tends to bring people closer — just look at soldiers in war.
After watching Forge cry like a baby during a particularly brutal round, I feel like I could spill my darkest secrets here without being judged.
“You know, I think whoever invented this game is some kind of psychopath,” I say, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.
“I think that says more about us, choosing to play it willingly,” Lee says from his corner.
“Hn.”
Screw full sentences. Not in the mood.
“Are we masochists?” Gred asks the air.
“I think we should get up…” Forge says.
“Hn.”
“Probably,” Lee agrees.
No one moves.
“We have to put on our uniforms,” Gred says.
Uniform?
…
“Shit, the uniform!” I shout, leaping to my feet and rushing to put on my shoes.
The boys jump at my sudden movement, letting out unmanly squeals of surprise that I mentally file away for later teasing.
The sky outside is already tinged with the warm orange of sunset.
I’m late!
“See you later! Bye!”
I don’t wait for a response before slamming the compartment door behind me and hurrying down the corridor.
I remember which compartment is mine — I picked number 7. Lucky number and all that.
One of the perks of arriving early is getting to choose.
I didn’t knock before entering.
“…Potter has no respect at all…” the blond boy about my age was ranting to two chubby boys when he stopped talking and stared at me, a little dazed. Then his expression hardened, and he gave me a snobby look I immediately decided would be a great reference for when I wanted to mock the twins later.
“And who are you?”
“Eleanore,” I replied.
Normally, I’d say “Call me Leo,” but something tells me this guy would definitely prefer the more old-fashioned version of my name.
How much gel is in that boy’s hair to make it look like that?
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have manners? You should knock before entering a compartment!” he snapped, and one of the boys even stood up like a henchman in one of those old mob movies.
“Hey, this was my compartment first!” I shot back and pointed at the luggage rack above the seats, where my uniform box was waiting.
Speaking of which, all three boys were already dressed in their robes. I am so late.
As the blond boy processed this new information, I climbed onto the bench, ignoring their protests, and grabbed my stuff.
“If this was your compartment, then why weren’t you here?” he finally managed to ask.
I looked him dead in the eye, already at the door and ready to dash to the nearest bathroom to change.
“There was a poisonous frog,” I explained.
The three boys froze.
“A what?” one of the henchmen asked.
“One of the boys brought a poisonous toad and ended up losing it. Then everyone ran out,” I explained, stepping out and closing the door behind me, just as I heard the horrified screams of the three boys. I took off running toward the bathroom.
I managed to change clothes while performing some serious contortion inside the cramped train bathroom—but I did it. The long robe is definitely not bathroom-friendly. It’s like trying to use the toilet while wearing a ballgown. Not. Practical.
Snow settles into one of the inner pockets of my robe, right near my ribs. I asked Madam Malkin to add that pocket especially. It's larger, to accommodate Snow as he grows, and it's enchanted to be lighter and more comfortable, so the kitten won’t get squashed by my movements and will stay warm and close to me.
I'm tying my shoelaces when I hear something that makes me freeze in place like I’m standing in front of a T-Rex. Even my breathing stops. I look toward the sound without turning my head. I'm kind of hoping it's a ghost or something.
Ribbit. Ribbit.
It’s Clover. The toad.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I bolt out of the bathroom with only one shoe properly tied, as if the devil himself is chasing me. I crash into a few people on the way but don’t stop to see who. I definitely don’t acknowledge the curses shouted at my back.
Why is it always me? Is this karma for that joke I made about Hermione? Or was it the one about the blond boy and his goons whose names I don’t even know? Or was it because I didn’t help look for Clover?
Now that I think about it, the fact that I have this many things on the list is already kind of worrying.
I stumble just as the train comes to a stop and immediately rush outside, gasping for air after my desperate sprint. I brace my hands on my knees, head down, while more and more students gather around.
My clothes are wrinkled. All that effort, and I’m still making my grand entrance looking like a crumpled sheet. I’m going to blame that toad for everything, no matter what anyone says. This is all Clover’s fault.
“Hey, you alright there?” asked a deep voice with a bit of a lisp.
I looked up. And up. And up.
“Wow.”
“You are alright!” the giant-looking man said, reassured by the stunned look on my face. Is he an actual giant? Is that even a thing?
The bearded man lifted a lantern and began ringing it. “FIRST YEARS THIS WAY!” he called out, repeating it for a few minutes until I was surrounded by other kids my age while the older students headed down a different path. There’s more than one way to get to the school?
“I’m Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, and I’ll be your guide tonight. FOLLOW ME!”
There were murmurs all around and some scattered conversations. We followed a dirt path until we reached the edge of a large, dark lake. I could tell it was a lake because the water was far too still to be a river, and it didn’t smell anything like the sea.
Several small boats waited for us there, each able to fit four kids—maybe two adults, depending on the size of the adult. There were no oars, though. Not that it matters. One thing I learned during my trips to Diagon Alley with my parents over the past few months is that wizards, in general, are not fans of manual labor. Of any kind. Even at the ice cream shop, there was an enchanted spoon churning the ice cream! I doubt any wizard would stoop so low as to row their own boat.
Honestly, I’m surprised they’re not all obese, considering how much candy they eat and how religiously opposed they are to exercise. Though maybe there’s a spell to lose weight? If that’s the case, then Neville and those two blond boy goons are chubby on purpose? Maybe magical beauty standards are just different.
“Four to a boat!” Hagrid shouted to the crowd of children. “Take it slow! No pushing!”
Now was the time when everyone started picking their partners—because God forbid you sit next to someone who isn't your best friend for the next ten minutes. Have these people never taken a bus before? Never mind. Better not to know.
I just headed straight for a boat without caring. I dipped my hand into the water and felt how cold it was, but I could also see how clear it looked. It was probably this dark because it was really deep—or simply because it was nighttime. Who knows?
The boat rocked slightly, and I heard a sniffle. I turned and saw Neville, checking—very discreetly—to make sure he wasn’t carrying that Cursed Toad. But the sniffling suggested the pet was still missing. Small mercies.
“Hey, Neville, how was the rest of the trip?” I asked, purposely ignoring the toad-shaped elephant in the room.
“I—I couldn’t find Clover,” he sniffled. I might have felt bad for him, if it weren’t for the demon spawn he calls a pet.
“I’m sure he’s having a great time exploring his new surroundings,” I said, secretly hoping some predator was enjoying him as a midnight snack. I’m such a horrible person.
“Y-you think so?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course. Toads like being near water, and there’s a huge lake here for him to play in.” Wow, I really am a monster.
Two other girls sat down in the same boat as us.
“Hi, I’m Leo,” I said with a quick wave, hoping to change the subject for Neville’s sake.
“Hi, I’m Susan Bones,” one of them replied.
“Hannah Abbott,” the other said with a nod.
“N-Neville Longbottom.”
“Oh, hi Neville!” Susan lit up at the sight of him. “It’s been a while!”
“Y-yeah,” he nodded shyly with a little smile, “It’s g-good to s-see you a-again.”
“Do you think we’ll ride these boats every year?” Hannah asked, frowning as she poked at the wood of the boat curiously.
“I don’t think so,” I said distractedly, stretching my hand out to try to touch the lakebed while we were still in shallow water. “The older students took a different path before we followed Hagrid here.”
“True,” Susan nodded in agreement.
I jumped when the boat started moving on its own, and we rocked a little as I sat up straight to avoid tipping us over. The girls let out frightened squeals, and Neville turned pale. I'm not exactly afraid of water myself, since I'm a good swimmer, but I'm not eager to freeze to death out here either.
“They could’ve at least warned us we were leaving,” I muttered, my heart racing from the scare. I could see now that everyone was already in their boats as we glided across the lake’s calm surface.
I might not be afraid of water or anything like that, but staring at the vast blackness beneath us, not knowing what's down there, sent a chill of fear creeping up my stomach. I mean, now that I know magic is real, who's to say there's not some kind of underwater monster just waiting for a free snack?
Great, now I’m reconsidering my decision to come to Hogwarts. No, too late for that—I’m already enrolled and halfway across a highly suspicious lake. Plus, I spent a small fortune on school supplies.
Hannah, Susan, and Neville also looked rather anxious as they watched the water, but they were excited too. Okay, just focus on the magic and not the Lake Ness Monster.
Magic. Floating things and pretty little lights. Risking my life for that doesn’t sound like a very smart trade...
Alright, how about some more useful magic? Like a house that cleans itself. Or unlocking any door.
Actually, maybe it was a good trade. Worst case scenario, I could use Alohomora to become a professional bank robber. Always good to start planning for the future. Even better to have a Plan B.
B for Bank.
I heard a nearby argument and peeked over to see Hermione sitting in a boat with three boys—one of whom was the blond kid with honestly excessive amounts of hair gel. The blond was arguing with a redhead, but I didn’t bother trying to hear what it was about.
“I bet one of them falls in,” I said to my companions, nodding toward the unlucky group with my thumb.
“That’s Draco Malfoy, isn’t it? I think I saw him with his father at the Ministry once,” Susan said, squinting at the boys to confirm her suspicion.
“The redhead must be a Weasley. Their hair’s a dead giveaway,” Hannah added.
“R-Ron Weasley,” Neville offered. “I-I met him while we were looking for T-Trevor.”
“Who’s Trevor?” Hannah asked, frowning as she translated Neville’s stutter.
“M-My pet toad,” he replied, then slumped even further down if that was even possible. “I-I lost him. Uncle Algie’s going to be disappointed.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Hannah said reassuringly.
“My aunt told me that if I ever had a problem—like losing something—I could ask the castle’s house-elves for help,” Susan told him. “I bet they’ll find your toad in no time.”
A loud noise from the Fantastic Four next to us drew our attention back to Malfoy and Weasley, who had gotten a little too enthusiastic and nearly tipped their boat over. Hagrid was now scolding them while Hermione clutched the sides of the boat like her life depended on it, and the boy with black hair and glasses held onto the redhead and said something quietly to the blond. The two troublemakers were still glaring daggers at each other.
“There’s a well-known rivalry between the Weasleys and the Malfoys,” Susan commented, looking back at the problematic boys.
“I won’t take your bet,” Hannah added. “There’s probably some spell keeping the boats from tipping.”
“Y-you really think there’s a spell p-protecting us?” Neville asked, looking quite relieved.
“I think so, but don’t rock too much—I don’t want to test that theory,” Hannah said, still gripping the side of the boat.
When I heard the first gasps of awe, I looked up and was met with the sight of a castle perched atop a hill by the lake. Pointed roofs crowned conical stone towers, and narrow windows glowed with warm light. A thin mist hovered over the water, and the moon’s pale light contrasted beautifully with the golden glow from the castle.
It was a breathtaking scene. Seriously, I could totally turn this into a poster or postcard.
Snow squirmed against my side, and I slipped my hand into my coat pocket to pet him, but didn’t take him out. If he saw the water, he might freak out and start flailing—and I am not jumping into this freezing lake to save him if that happens. No way.
...Maybe.
Okay, fine, I would. But I’d be in a terrible mood for the rest of the night.
The boats glided closer to the castle, and through the mist, I spotted a boathouse made of stone, with elegant arches inside that were probably meant to house the boats. The architecture almost reminded me of a church, with its sharply sloped triangular roof that flared outward at the base.
Except the boats didn’t go inside the boathouse. Instead, they floated toward the stone ramps and stayed there until Hagrid told us to get out.
Susan and Hannah, who were sitting across from me, got out first since they were closest to the ramp. The shift in weight made the boat wobble dangerously, and Neville panicked, sprawling across the boat trying to regain balance and only making it worse.
“ONE AT A TIME!” Hagrid bellowed.
“No kidding,” I muttered, my heart in my throat from the near fall.
“Oh, sorry,” Hannah said, reaching out a hand to help me up while Susan held the boat steady. Neville was still pale, but relaxed visibly when we stopped rocking. “I didn’t think that would happen.”
“Eh, it’s fine. No harm done,” I replied with a half-hearted smile. That was a close one.
Soon enough, we were all back on solid ground, and I finally understood why some people kiss the ground after getting off a boat or a plane. In moments like these, I remember why humans don’t have wings or fins. We’re land creatures, and I think I’ll be sticking to my natural habitat, thank you very much.
Hagrid started guiding us up a stone path with steep stairs lit by the occasional torch. It was a long climb.
See what I mean about the magical world being confusing? I mean, for people who use magic for everything, you’re telling me no one in all of wizarding history thought to invent something like an escalator? That would be a perfect practical use of magic, but nooo, that would ruin the whole medieval aesthetic!
I’m not a sedentary person, okay? I exercise. I have a black belt in kung fu. I swam for years, plus all the sports I did in school. I’m in shape, damn it! That doesn’t mean I like climbing stairs!
You know the worst part? It means the stairs inside are probably just as bad. In a damn castle with who-knows-how-many floors, I’ll be spending the next seven years of my life going up and down stairs like some kind of caveman.
You know what? Maybe that’s my personal project—bring the wizarding world into the 20th century.
Who knows? I might even win a Magical Nobel Prize for it.
When we entered the castle and walked through a few corridors, I saw McGonagall waiting for us like... well, like a witch. In a good way! I think it’s the hat that makes me expect her to burst into an evil Disney villain cackle at random moments. Maybe I should get one of those hats for myself. I bet my family's reaction would be hilarious.
Hagrid discreetly said goodbye to a few students before heading off down the corridor.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” McGonagall greeted us as we stopped on the stairs, clearly about to deliver a well-rehearsed speech that would both discipline and inspire us. She seemed like that kind of person. “In a few moments, you will walk through those doors and join your classmates, but before you take your seats, you will be sorted into your Houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn points, and any rule-breaking will cost your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup.”
Croak.
McGonagall was interrupted by the sound that made me tense all over again.
No way. Why? Aren’t toads almost at the bottom of the food chain? Why hasn’t something eaten him yet? Why does he keep showing up in front of me?
“Trevor!” Neville darted forward, pushing through the crowd to retrieve his lost toad. Both I and the snobby blond boy stepped back—me, because I don’t like toads, and Malfoy, because he still thinks it’s poisonous. Oops.
McGonagall didn’t even flinch. She’s a teacher—she must be used to the inherent disrespect of youth—so she just carried on:
“The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly.”
She walked away and left us there. Seriously, how many of us are there? A hundred and forty? We’re over a hundred eleven-year-olds with literal magic wands and zero idea how to use them safely, and she just leaves us here? Unsupervised? I’m going to have an ulcer.
“So it’s true, then. Harry Potter’s come to Hogwarts,” said the snobby blond boy, snobbily. Snobbishly? Is that even a word? “These are Crabbe and Goyle,” he added, nodding at his goons.
“And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”
And I’m Bond. James Bond.
Maybe the redheaded boy—Weasley—got the reference too, because he snorted, catching Malfoy’s unwanted attention.
“Think my name’s funny, do you? I don’t need to ask yours: red hair, hand-me-down robes. You must be a Weasley,” he sneered.
Does Malfoy practice sounding that smug in front of a mirror? Because honestly, it's impressive in a really twisted way.
I kind of wish I had popcorn for this little drama. I stayed quiet—it was like being in a movie or play, and if I made noise, I might ruin the scene.
But I turned my head toward Weasley, curious to see what he’d say next. I was following the argument like a tennis match.
Then Malfoy did something unexpected—he turned to the black-haired boy with glasses, the one I remembered from the boat. “You’ll find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that.”
And just like that, Malfoy, full-on anti-hero mode, extended his hand to Potter.
I turned to see his response. Would he accept it and turn against Weasley? Would he reject Malfoy’s offer? Would he try to keep both as friends to use Malfoy’s influence? Maybe he’s the anti-hero. Only time will tell.
Potter looked at Malfoy, then at his hand, then back at his face.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort is for myself, thanks,” he replied.
I had the sudden urge to let out one of those dramatic “Uhhh” sounds that Muggle kids always made whenever someone got rejected. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop any sound from escaping into the tense silence that followed—but I didn’t take my eyes off them. Oh, this is gold. So much drama at such a young age! These boys have a promising future in theater. Maybe I should suggest they start keeping a diary—someday their lives could be turned into a play!
Before Malfoy could respond, however, McGonagall returned and poked him with a rolled-up parchment. After throwing a resentful look at Potter, Malfoy went back to his spot. Oh, I’ll be keeping an eye out for the next episode of this soap opera. It seems so entertaining.
“Form two parallel lines and follow me,” the professor ordered, walking off without waiting for us to get organized. Is that some kind of psychological trick to make us hurry and stop bickering? If so, it worked.
The unnecessarily large doors swung open with a dramatic boom, revealing a vast hall with four long tables laid out parallel to each other, and one shorter table perpendicular to them at the front, where older people—who I assumed were the teachers—sat facing the rest of the room with their backs to the wall. Each table had ties of different colors. I only noticed because I was specifically looking for a way to tell the Houses apart in the uniforms. The outer robes also had distinctive crests for each table.
Red on the far right, near the wall, had to be Gryffindor. Their symbol was a lion.
Next to them, still on my right, were the yellow ties. Hufflepuff? What a weird name. Their animal is a badger (how original).
On the far left, dressed in green, was Slytherin. They held themselves differently—straighter backs, carefully maintaining personal space (they’re like mini adults). Their animal is a snake.
Next to them, still on my left, were the blue ties. Ravenclaw, which, as the name suggests, has a (surprise) raven as a symbol.
Overhead, I could see the distant sky—which was wild, considering we were clearly indoors. But apparently, things like logic and physics are optional when magic is involved. I heard Hermione off to the side, explaining it all in detail to Neville because she read Hogwarts: A History and now she's going to explain it to everyone. Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think that’ll do her any favors socially.
I’ll sit near her if we have the same classes, so it should be fine.
We gathered amid whispers from both my fellow first-years and the older students. I distinctly heard something about Potter and wondered if that little scene from earlier had already made the rounds. Gossip really does travel faster than anything.
McGonagall positioned herself atop a small staircase that seemed to exist only to make her look taller. Beside her was a wooden stool with a very old, floppy hat on it. When was the last time that thing was washed?
I spotted Hagrid at the staff table in the corner, standing out as a giant even there.
“Everyone, please stay right here,” McGonagall gestured vaguely to the area in front of her. “Now, before we begin, Professor Dumbledore has a few words.”
“I have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” said a white-bearded man in a raspy voice. How old is he?
“Bet this guy had a pet dinosaur when he was a kid,” I muttered to no one in particular. A Black boy next to me stifled a laugh. The old man looked in our direction, and I held my breath.
No way he actually heard me… right?
“All first-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch,” he pointed toward the back of the hall, and I turned to see an old man with a sour, grumpy expression glaring at the students, “has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is forbidden to anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.”
Wow. Okay. Damn.
Just out of curiosity, why is there something deadly inside a school? And why doesn’t it have some kind of magical protection to stop people from testing their luck? Kids are stupid, it’s part of our nature! You can’t just say something’s off-limits and expect us not to go!
“Thank you,” Professor Dumb—because honestly, you'd have to be pretty dumb to think those warnings were effective—concluded.
As if the day hadn’t been surprising enough, one of the folds in the hat opened, and it began to sing, breaking the tense silence left by our esteemed Headmaster. That thing is alive! A hat!
“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So put me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart.
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart.You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil.Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning
Will always find their kind.Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends.
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.So try me on! Don’t be afraid!
Don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”
Wow.
Okay, that was awesome. I take my metaphorical hat off to him—that was seriously cool. Am I allowed to take him home and show my parents? Do they sell these somewhere? Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I were sitting there and when someone tried to talk to me, but I didn’t want to reply, my hat would just answer for me? Epic.
The stunned silence after the song was broken by McGonagall unrolling a parchment.
“When I call your names, step forward,” she told us. “I will place the Sorting Hat on your heads and you will be sorted into your Houses.”
She glanced at the list before calling, “Hermione Granger.”
I wonder what method they use to organize these names? It’s definitely not alphabetical. Hannah Abbot’s last name starts with A, and my first name starts with E, so either one of us should’ve gone first. It’s not important, but now I’m curious.
Hermione walked nervously to the stool, the hat was placed on her head, and after a short moment it shouted: “Gryffindor!”
Eh. That was obvious. I confess I’m a bit disappointed.
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Slytherin!” the hat declared immediately. What does that say about him?
“Susan Bones.” This time the hat muttered to itself for a moment before declaring: “Hufflepuff!”
“Ronald Weasley.” The redheaded boy was called and made some very funny faces. I mean, didn’t he know he’d be called at some point?
“Ah! Another Weasley! I know exactly what to do with you,” said the hat. “Gryffindor!”
“Harry Potter.” The students stirred at the name, and I was no longer sure that earlier commotion had been just about Malfoy. I mean, the kid's only eleven—that moment wasn’t that dramatic.
“Hmm, tricky... very tricky,” the hat murmured. Then silence—solid three minutes of it. Potter was whispering something too, but I was too far to hear. Was he casting a spell?
“Better be Gryffindor!” the hat finally shouted.
A roar of applause, and Potter beamed. The people at the lion table stood up, cheering. Is this kid famous or something? I recognized Forge, Gred, and Lee among them, but didn’t try waving—they were way too distracted.
“Silence!” McGonagall demanded, and the Gryffindors calmed down so the sorting could continue. “Hannah Abbot.”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Eleanore Clark,” she said, and I gave a tiny startled hop as I was called.
Okay. Walk casually. Don’t panic. It’s just a hat.
I sat on the wooden stool and firmly ignored the professor hovering above me. No pressure. Nope. Terrifying.
“Hmm, how interesting,” a voice echoed around me, hard to tell if it was in or outside my head. Can the hat read minds? Creepy!
“You’re a trickster, aren’t you? Normally, I’d put people like you in Gryffindor, but your humor has a Slytherin edge. You go out of your way to be kind to others, but never in ways that could harm you—so not a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin. Two Houses eliminated.”
Wait, it’s reading my mind?!
“I take back what I said about it being disappointing. I’m officially impressed, Mr. Hat!” I heard it laugh in my head.
This is so weird. I think I don’t want a talking hat anymore.
“You’re very critical, aren’t you? Though you call it ‘common sense,’ if I’m not mistaken,” the hat teased. “Very clever, and there’s no rule saying pranksters can’t be smart. Decided, then. RAVENCLAW!”
The hat was lifted off my head, and I looked around, hoping that whole conversation hadn’t been out loud. Judging by the blank stares around me, it was all in my head. Well, except the last bit.
Finally noticing the applause coming from the table with the blue crests, I hurried over—almost running, but like... discreetly—and sat down beside the older students, my face burning with embarrassment.
The Sorting continues, and I try to distract myself from the hunger and embarrassment by striking up a conversation with the girl next to me. She’s of Asian descent and very pretty. She catches me looking and smiles at me.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I greet her, and she raises her eyebrows.
“Oh, hi! Welcome to Hogwarts,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m Cho Chang.”
I think she’s a year older. She’s not physically much bigger than I am, but she wasn’t part of the Sorting. And I was paying attention, for once.
“I’m Leo. Nice to meet you,” I reply.
“Were you nervous about the hat too?” she asks, tilting her head curiously. “I thought it was going to judge me forever last year.”
Confirmed: she’s an upper-year. My amazing powers of observation never fail.
“Yes! It was like… analyzing my soul or something,” I grumble, making a face. “Seriously, if that wasn’t mental invasion of privacy, I don’t know what is.”
She laughs, and for a moment, I feel less embarrassed. Then one of her older friends calls her over and she goes to talk to them. A few more kids arrive at the table, all with dazed expressions, like they’ve just come out of some emotional juicer. I hear occasional clapping at my table and the others nearby, but since I’ve already been Sorted, I decide not to stress about it anymore.
One of the new kids, a skinny boy with freckles and spiky reddish-brown hair, trips over his own robes before sitting down.
“Wow,” he sighs. “I thought I was going to puke up there.”
“So classy,” I comment with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“I’m Evan Northwood,” he says, extending a hand like he didn’t just mention vomiting. I already like him.
“Leo,” I reply, shaking his hand with a little smile. “How long do you think we’ll be starved in the name of tradition and sentimentality?”
“Judging by the apparent age of our professors, I’d say a very long time,” Evan replies, shooting a glance toward the staff table, where no one seems to be under forty.
“We’re doomed,” I conclude, resigned.
Another girl arrives and sits across from Evan, carefully adjusting her round glasses and high curly bun. She scans the room attentively and, without any introduction, says:
“Have you noticed that the ceiling is actually an atmospheric projection spell? The sky isn’t really visible.”
“You read Hogwarts: A History too?” I wonder why Hermione didn’t end up in this house. She’d totally fit in here.
“Of course,” she replies, then shakes her head like remembering something. “I’m Adhara N’dour.”
“You look like someone who’s going to be a prefect in about two years,” Evan comments to no one in particular.
“Thank you,” she replies as if it’s the highest compliment in the world, sitting up straighter. Who am I to judge someone’s ambitions? My Plan B in life is to become a professional thief. No judgment here.
As more students arrive at the table, a nervous-looking boy with pale skin sits down beside me. He glances around, a bit panicked, as if trying to memorize all the exits.
“Boo,” I whisper near his ear, and watch, entertained and surprised, as he actually startles and nearly jumps out of his seat. Okay, I didn’t think that would actually work. “Hi?”
“Ah—hi! I’m Felix. Felix Greaves,” he says like he’s reporting to an authority figure. “It’s my first year.”
“Really? I never would’ve guessed,” I reply with a smile. He tenses up. “What’s the matter? The worst part is over, right?”
I hope it is. It’s late and I’m tired. If there’s any kind of test now, I’ll apologize and take the next train home because this witch life isn’t for me.
“My dad said Ravenclaw was the most logical house. And that I have to get good grades because my sister’s in Slytherin and… well, there’s some rivalry.”
“Well, we’re screwed, because I suck at logic,” Evan declares, flopping into his chair like he’s given up. Oh, a fellow pessimist to keep me company. Joy!
“Don’t say that!” Adhara says encouragingly. “You haven’t even had a single class yet. And there’s emotional logic, artistic logic... every kind of intelligence matters.”
“See? Already acting like a prefect,” Evan mutters grimly. Adhara blushes, Felix relaxes, and I laugh.
More kids arrive, but the long table doesn’t make it easy to talk to the ones farther away.
The Sorting is almost over, and hunger has become a physical presence. I can even feel Snow, inside my coat, starting to meow for food. The snacks I brought for her on the train are gone.
Finally, Dumbledore stands again, arms open and a big smile on his face as the Sorting ends at last.
“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I’d like to say a few words. And here they are: Nonsense! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you.”
What the hell does that mean?
The food appears on the tables in the blink of an eye, wiping away all the confusion Dumbledore left behind. My stomach growls loudly in gratitude, but I’m polite enough to pretend I didn’t hear it.
“Wow,” Felix murmurs, enchanted by the feast. “That’s… a lot of food.”
“I officially forgive Hogwarts for putting me in a house with a talking hat,” Evan says, already piling potatoes onto his plate.
“Technically, the hat belongs to Hogwarts, not to Ravencl—”
I tune out the conversation and start filling my plate.
And so, as we serve ourselves and eat like it’s our last meal, I realize that maybe, just maybe, this whole Hogwarts thing might be worth the trouble of living away from my parents and leaving all my friends behind in London. It better be.
“Are you going to eat all that?” Felix asks, eyes wide as he stares at my plate.
It’s a very well-balanced plate, and I made a point of grabbing something from every food group. I don’t see the issue.
“What about it?”
“It’s a literal mountain of food,” Felix says, unable to look away. “How are you going to eat it without it all toppling over? It’s like a card pyramid.”
“What an exaggeration,” I roll my eyes.
“I bet she can’t finish it,” Evan says, speaking the forbidden words. Now I have to eat everything, whether I can or not. It’s a matter of honor.
Adhara, who had also shot me a doubtful glance, nodded. “Yeah, I agree, there’s no way.”
“I’m trying not to be offended here.”
“I think she can do it,” Felix says, to my eternal surprise.
“Dude, look at her, she’s tiny. There’s no way all that fits inside her!” Evan argues.
“Dude, I have a sister, and trust me — she can. Don’t ask me how, but she can,” Felix says like he’s recalling a traumatic memory.
Now both Adhara and Evan are giving me doubtful looks. Taking it as a personal challenge, I start chewing.
I wasn’t super talkative during the meal — mealtime is sacred — but I listened as everyone introduced themselves and shared basic personal info like we were signing up for some government assistance program.
“Who are your parents?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What’s your favorite subject? And your worst?” — they do know we haven’t had any classes yet, right?
“Do you have siblings?”
“Where do you live?”
I made sure to keep my mouth too full for anyone to think it was a good idea to ask me anything and expect an answer. I used the moment to feed Snow little pieces of chicken and some milk.
“Oh! A kitten!” Adhara exclaimed, delighted, and immediately drew everyone’s attention — mostly the girls’. Cho, next to me, turned to look too. “What’s its name?”
“She’s a girl. Her name’s Snow White,” I declared confidently.
The surprised silence that followed made it hard not to smile, but I kept a straight face. Everyone was now staring at me — even the upper-years. Just a little longer and…
“But she’s black,” Felix said.
…hooked.
“No, she’s white,” I replied, dead serious.
“She’s black, I’m sure,” Adhara said.
“Maybe she’s colorblind?” Evan suggested to no one in particular.
“But mixing up white and black is a huge difference. I don’t think that’s how colorblindness works,” one of the older students said from a bit farther away.
“What? Are you an expert on colorblindness?” I asked, dryly.
“Well, no, but—”
“Then you don’t know,” another upper-year chimed in.
After that, the discussion exploded — ranging from whether only experts should have an opinion on a topic, to medical books and how they might possibly cure colorblindness. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Ravenclaw for you.
I finished my dinner in peace while watching the older students become more and more enthusiastic in their arguments. We even got a bit of philosophy in there: “Do we really see, or is it all created by our minds?”
Dinner ended, and we were introduced to two fifth-years who, judging by the very obvious badges on their chests, were our prefects. They led us through a series of corridors and turns and stairs (not that many, but I’m tired, okay?) to a stone wall with a statue of a sphinx that came to life and gave us a riddle.
Yes, the statue moved. At this point, nothing surprises me anymore.
The rule is: we have to solve a riddle to enter the common room instead of using a simple password. How inconvenient. What if I’m in a rush? Or lost in thought and have to pause everything to solve a puzzle?
I kept my criticism to myself because I’m self-aware enough to know my bad mood is from exhaustion.
“What can be broken but never held?” the statue asked.
“Trust,” the prefect answered confidently.
Without another word, the bricks began to shift and rearrange, like the wall that leads to Diagon Alley at the Leaky Cauldron. A beautiful and casual display of magic.
The common room is gorgeous — even annoyed, I can admit that. The white pillars shimmer with bluish and purplish hues like they’re reflecting the soft glow of the enchanted ceiling. Unlike the Great Hall’s ceiling, this one has no candles — just the night sky, with stars traced by soft silver lines and small inscriptions with their names. Constellations are connected, forming images. I’d bet the subtle movements I see mimic the real stars above.
Besides that, it’s an open space, with lots of cushions on the floor for reading or games, and tables for homework. Apart from the white pillars, most of the walls are covered in bookshelves or random knick-knacks. In the center, there’s a floating fire — no wood or anything, just flames in midair — with a marked circle on the floor, probably to keep us from getting too close.
I went on autopilot until I reached the shared dormitory I’d be staying in with three other girls: Adhara, Lisa Turpin, and Padma Patil. The beds were four-posters with teal-blue curtains around each one. Not exactly a double bed, but not as narrow as a standard single either. It was... comfortable.
Honestly? I didn’t even bother saying good night. I found my trunk, grabbed my things for a quick shower in a bathroom that had at least two showers, two toilets, and three sinks. Except for the sinks, everything else was enclosed in wooden stalls for privacy. I brushed my teeth and settled Snow beside me, leaving a little box for him to pee and poop in during the night. It was a magically enchanted box to contain odors and make cleaning easy.
I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.