The small fleet of wooden boats glided across the surface of the Black Lake, leaving twin ripples in their wake that shimmered under the pale moonlight. The water was as dark and smooth as polished obsidian, occasionally broken by the silent, lazy swirl of something large moving deep beneath the surface.
For the first-year students, the sight of Hogwarts Castle perched atop the craggy cliffs ahead was nothing short of breathtaking—a sprawling fortress of towers and turrets with hundreds of windows glowing like warm, amber embers against the night sky.
Inside one of the boats, the silence of the night was broken by the quiet chatter of Timothy, Tracy, and Khalid. Timothy, clutching the edge of the boat with knuckles turned white from both cold and excitement, decided to break the ice.
"I'm from London by the way," he whispered, his voice hitching slightly as the boat bobbed. "Just a regular flat near the Thames. I've got a little sister, Molly, who was absolutely gutted she didn't get a letter too. She tried to hide in my trunk this morning." He managed a small, nervous smile. "It was Professor McGonagall who brought mine. My mum nearly fainted when she turned our fireplace into a stack of kittens to prove she wasn't a prankster."
Tracy, sitting opposite him, adjusted her scarf and gave a thoughtful nod. "At least your parents believed it quickly," she said, her voice carrying a hint of a Manchester accent. "My dad is Dr. Terrance Thurston, Terry for short. He's a supernatural skeptic and a bit of a professional ghost hunter. Well, he uncovers them as frauds, anyway." She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I don't know much about my mum's side, other than that she was Chinese, but Dad raised me on logic and the scientific method."
Timothy's eyes widened, his grip on the boat loosening in surprise. "Wait—the Dr. Terry? From 'The Unmasking'? My dad never missed that show! He loved the episode where your dad proved that 'screaming banshee' in Leeds was just a rusty water pipe." He let out a sudden, loud exclamation of realization before quickly coughing into his hand, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I didn't mean to shout. It's just… my dad always thought your dad was a genius. Until Hogwarts shifted their entire reality."
Tracy laughed, a bright sound that seemed to chase away some of the evening's chill. "It's alright. I understand. You should have seen my 'genius' dad's face when McGonagall showed up at our door," she said, leaning in. "She didn't do the kitten trick for us. She just levitated his favorite recliner—with him still sitting in it—until his head was touching the ceiling. His eyes were the size of saucers. I think his entire perception of reality shattered right then and there. He didn't speak for three hours after she left."
Even Rachel, who had been sitting in the stern of the boat in brooding silence, allowed a small, fleeting smile to touch her lips at the mental image.
Khalid, who had been listening intently while watching the castle draw closer, spoke up next. "My parents are archeologists," he explained, his tone calm and measured. "They were from Egypt, moved to England years ago to work with the British Museum. I was born here. They've spent their lives digging up the past, looking for myths, but they never expected their own son to be part of one." He looked down at his hands. "When the Hogwarts Professor left after explaining, they spent the whole night researching Wizarding history. I think they're more excited about the library here than I am."
The three of them then turned their gaze toward Rachel. Sensing the weight of their expectation, she let out a long, weary sigh. "Rachel Roth," she said shortly. The name seemed to carry a weight of its own. "My family… the Roths… we have a very long history with magic. It's expected. That's all there is to it."
Timothy nodded slowly, deducing the weight behind her words. "A pure-blood family, then," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked at her with a mix of curiosity and a touch of intimidation, but the conversation was cut short as the boats neared the towering cliff face.
"Heads down!" Hagrid's booming voice echoed across the water as the lead boat approached a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff.
Everyone ducked instinctively as the boats surged forward, passing through the greenery and into a vast, dark tunnel. The air grew damp and cool, smelling of wet stone and ancient earth. They were carried along an underground river until they reached a hidden harbor, where the boats bumped gently against a stone dock.
The students scrambled out, their shoes clattering and slipping on the uneven ground, which was thick with damp moss and loose stones. Hagrid, holding his massive lantern aloft to light the way, led them up a flight of stone steps and across a smooth, paved pathway that wound toward the castle's massive entrance.
They reached a flight of broad stone stairs leading to a pair of enormous oak doors. Standing there, bathed in the light of flickering torches, was a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. She wore a large, pointed hat and possessed a very stern expression that immediately silenced the shivering crowd of children.
Timothy recognized her instantly—it was Professor McGonagall. Her sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering for a fraction of a second on each face, as if she were memorizing them.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid announced, his voice sounding small in the presence of the castle's grandeur.
"Thank you, Hagrid," she replied, her voice crisp and authoritative. "I will take them from here."
She turned and the great oak doors began to open up on their own. The entrance hall was so large it could have housed Timothy's entire house. The stone walls were lined with flaming torches, and the ceiling was so high it was lost in shadow. As the students followed her inside, the heavy doors groaned shut behind them, sealing them into their new world.