King's Cross was filled with a bustling tide of Muggles and witches. Trunks were seen and calls were everywhere; children tugging parents' sleeves. We kept our belongings inside the storage-rings, so the chaos could not disturb us.
I led them through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The brick wall felt like a wave and before we knew it. The sight of the Hogwarts Express waiting and huffing like a promise.
Enid looked around with glee, "So many people!! Hogwarts, here we come~!"
Wednesday just rolled her eyes as Thing pointed to the Hogwarts Express. Nitocris hooked her arm onto mine as we boarded the train.
Onboard, we found an empty carriage and settled in. A quick charm locked them against intrusion; the carriage became private, warm, and safe from the curious students. I also added a slight Extension Charm to make the room bigger. The train started its journey as the countryside began to roll by in a green blur.
We sat together for a long moment, listening to the engine's steady heartbeat.
Enid hummed, looking at the scenery outside; Wednesday folded back the corner of a text book with deliberate care; Nitocris leaned into me and closed her eyes, letting the motion of the train soothe her.
In the days before the Hogwarts Express departed, word of our arrival had already stirred the upper echelons of the wizarding world.
Professor McGonagall, meticulous as ever, had given a full account to Dumbledore and the rest of the Heads of House. She described our unusual entrance into Ollivander's shop, how each wand had rejected the ordinary in favor of the extraordinary.
The professors were unsettled enough by this, but then Dumbledore added another breaking news that changed the tone of the meeting: a new House, House Ashborn, had been officially registered with the Ministry of Magic. Its crest and lineage had already circulated through the records, and its lord was one of the students set to arrive at Hogwarts this very term.
The weight of this news was made heavier by recent events. The Quidditch World Cup had just ended in chaos, the Dark Mark seen in the sky for the first time in years since the fall of the Dark Lord. On top of that, the reintroduction of the Triwizard Tournament had the school on edge.
For four unknown students—fully grown, already seventeen, and bearing strange wands—to appear now was either a blessing or a disaster waiting to unfold.
Dumbledore's calm voice slowly murmured, "These young ones,"
He said, "may yet prove crucial to what is coming. Let us judge not with fear, but with patience. For now."
Meanwhile, aboard the Hogwarts Express, life was considerably lighter. The clatter of the train wheels filled our private carriage, the windows showing stretches of countryside rolling past in green and gold.
A few hours into the trip, the candy trolley came by, and Enid, bright as always, nearly bounced out of her seat to buy half its stock. She returned with arms full of sweets—Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, and of course, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
She spread them out across our laps like a feast. I found myself savoring the Chocolate Frogs, amused by the collectable card inside, while Enid insisted on challenging Wednesday and Nitocris to the "bean game." They accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Wednesday went first, her face calm as stone until she chewed and announced flatly, "Earthworm."
Enid snorted with laughter but went pale a moment later when she bit into hers.
"Rotten Egg!" she squealed, waving her hands like she could fan the taste away.
Nitocris, dignified as ever, plucked one at random, tasted it, and then leaned back with an amused hum, "Honey. Fortune favors the queen."
The game spiraled into laughter, teasing, and a few shoves as more flavors were tried—grass, soap, even one that tasted distinctly of puke.
When the whistle shrieked and the train began to slow, the scenery outside had shifted to deep forests and misty hills. By that time, all of us had changed into our robes. Hogsmeade Station came into view, the platform buzzing as the train finally rolled to a stop.
Stepping onto the platform, the chill air greeted us. Almost immediately, a booming voice rang out over the crowd: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Follow me!"
Hagrid waved a lantern to gather the youngest students. Though we were older, we followed the group anyway—after all, this was our first year at Hogwarts, no matter our age.
Whispers and stares followed us from the older students, curious eyes taking in our unfamiliar faces but we ignored them, keeping our pace with Hagrid and the other first years.
The boats waited at the lake's edge. They were enchanted to carry their passengers without rowing. We climbed into one together, the four of us seated close as the lantern light flickered off the black surface of the water. Then, as the boats pushed forward on their own, the view unfolded.
Hogwarts rose into sight, a castle vast and majestic, its towers piercing the mist, its windows blazing with golden light. For all of us—even those who had seen wonders before—the sight stole breath and silenced words. It was not just a school. It was a sanctuary, and a beacon of magic all at once.
The boats carried us to the docks, where Hagrid gathered the first years and led us up the winding path. The closer we drew, the more the grandeur it became: massive gates, carved stone archways, the heavy history it came with. At last we entered through the side entrance and into the castle itself.
We stopped in front of Professor McGonagall, who stood sharp in her emerald robes. She addressed us with clipped precision, laying out a few basic rules and the process to come. Her eyes lingered on us longer than most, narrowing slightly as if weighing every angle of our presence here.
"Wait here," she said finally, her voice ringing against the stone walls. "I will return shortly."
And with that, she swept away, leaving us standing among the sea of wide-eyed eleven-year-olds. Professor McGonagall returned with the same sharp precision as before, her heels clicking against the stone floor.
She gave us a measured look before speaking, "We are ready for you. Follow me."
We did as instructed, walking with her down a long hallway until the massive doors of the Great Hall opened with a groaning weight. Instantly, the sound of hundreds of voices met our ears—laughter, whispers, the clinking of goblets.
The enchanted ceiling stretched above us, a night sky mirrored from the world outside: stars glittering in constellations, half-shrouded by clouds. The four tables stretched out endlessly, packed with students whose eyes snapped toward us the moment we entered.
McGonagall led us to the front where the Sorting Hat rested upon a simple wooden stool, as though something so ordinary could not possibly be the arbiter of fate. Yet the murmurs quieted into silence. Everyone knew what came next.
McGonagall's voice rang out clearly: "These four are exchange students, and as is tradition, they will be Sorted into Houses the same as any first year."
A ripple of whispers followed. Exchange students? At Hogwarts? The mystery only added to the tension.
"Wednesday Addams," McGonagall called.
Wednesday Addams was the first called. Her black dress swayed slightly as she stepped forward, calm, unflinching, as though daring the Sorting Hat to try and understand her. She sat on the stool, the Hat lowered onto her head, and instantly its voice whispered in her mind.
"Well, aren't you a curious one? A razor wit, a hunger for the macabre, and intellect sharp enough to cut steel. Ah yes, Ravenclaw would suit you. Knowledge is your weapon. Knowledge is your shield."
The decision was nearly instantaneous.
"RAVENCLAW!" it cried.
She stood, unfazed, and moved to the Ravenclaw table. A hush fell briefly, Ravenclaws stiffening under the weight of her presence, but one pair of silvery-gray eyes—Luna Lovegood—watched her without fear, as though she saw beyond Wednesday's shadow.
"Y/N Ashborn," McGonagall called.
Various whispers circulated as it was the name of the new House that popped out some time ago.
I sat upon the stool, the Hat slipping over my head. Its voice was low, cautious.
"Oh... oh my. You're no ordinary student, are you? I can feel it—death itself clinging to you like a second skin. You could rise to greatness anywhere I placed you, but ambition... cunning... leadership rooted in inevitability... oh yes, you belong in Slytherin. There, your destiny may flourish."
The Hat didn't hesitate, "SLYTHERIN!"
As I stood, the room stirred uneasily. All the ghosts that had gathered as well as—Nearly Headless Nick, the Bloody Baron, the Grey Lady, the Fat Friar—drew close, their gazes intent upon me. Then, as one, they bowed and knelt, acknowledging not merely a student but the Lord of the Dead himself. Gasps erupted across the hall as the phantoms dissolved, vanishing back into the walls.
I walked to the Slytherin table, the emerald banners swaying faintly overhead. It was there I caught sight of her—a girl with long golden-blonde hair cascading like a waterfall, emerald-green eyes gleaming in the torchlight. Her figure was poised, statuesque, robes hugging her form in a way that accentuated her elegance.
I knew the roster of Hogwarts characters, but her face was unfamiliar. Not a Malfoy, not anyone I recognized. She stared at me without flinching, intrigue heavy in her gaze. Whoever she was, she intended to make herself known eventually.
"Enid Sinclair," McGonagall continued.
Enid Sinclair was next. She bounded forward with her usual enthusiasm, nerves tempered by excitement. The Hat had barely touched her head before speaking.
"Ah, loyalty, warmth, a heart that beats for friends before yourself. You crave belonging, a family, and you would thrive in Hufflepuff, where loyalty and kindness reign supreme. Yes, yes, it's perfect."
The Hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Enid skipped off to the cheering table, already swarmed by friendly faces. Cedric Diggory himself extended a welcoming smile, offering her a handshake.
She took it happily, inwardly she thought: I wonder if you can live to the end this time.
"Nitocris," McGonagall called the last name.
Finally, Nitocris.
She walked with eyes narrowing as the Sorting Hat was placed.
The Hat hesitated immediately, "Ah—what is this? Power. But not just magic... something older. Justice itself burns in you. I could place you in Slytherin, yes, your cunning is unmatched. Or Ravenclaw, for your sharp mind. But no... no, your courage, your fire, your presence belongs in Gryffindor. They will either fear you... or follow you."
The Hat announced: "GRYFFINDOR!"
And at that moment, a shadow loomed. Behind Nitocris, unseen by most, the spectral form of Anubis himself flickered—jackal-headed, roaring silently before dissolving into the ether.
She joined the Gryffindor table, where students shuffled nervously to give her space. Only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley twins dared approach, treating her not with fear but with curiosity. Her glare softened only slightly for them.
Once we were all seated in our Houses, the entire hall buzzed with whispers. Students craned their necks, professors murmured amongst themselves, eyes flicking between us as though trying to puzzle out how we fit into Hogwarts' already tumultuous year.
Dumbledore finally rose, his arms outstretched for silence.
"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I must first inform you of two things. One, the Quidditch Cup will not be held this year."
A chorus of groans and complaints thundered from every table.
The Weasley Twins shouted, "That's rubbish!!"
"Silence!" Dumbledore said with a clap of his hands, his voice carrying an authority that cut the noise instantly.
"The reason for this is most extraordinary. An event not seen for over a century will take its place," He continued.
The enchanted ceiling above thundered suddenly, dark clouds swirling as lightning cracked. A hunched figure limped into the hall, a staff clutched in one hand and a magical eye spinning wildly in its socket. He raised his wand, calming the storm overhead with a single flick.
Gasps and excited whispers erupted, "Mad-Eye Moody!" "Alastor Moody?" "The Auror?"
Dumbledore beamed, "Let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I present, Alastor Moody."
We exchanged a glance among ourselves, knowing the truth hidden behind the scarred visage—that this was not Alastor Moody at all, but Barty Crouch Jr. under Polyjuice's guise.
Dumbledore continued, "This year, Hogwarts will play host to the Triwizard Tournament. Champions will be chosen from among three great schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. In November, our guests will arrive, and the Tournament will begin."
The Great Hall erupted once more, excitement and dread mingling in equal measure.
The aftermath in the Great Hall hung heavy with a dozen overlapping currents: curiosity, suspicion, excitement, and a dull undercurrent of fear. Even as plates were cleared and students drifted toward the staircases and common rooms, the professors remained clustered near the staff table, exchanging low words that carried across the hall like a current.
Dumbledore watched the four of us, fingers playing beneath his beard. His eyes trying to weigh threat against promise.
McGonagall's expression had not softened since earlier—her posture rigid, like a coiled spring; she kept turning a fraction too often to study the Slytherin table.
Snape's face, as always, was a mask of controlled disapproval. He watched me in particular with a narrowing look—and when rumors reached him about the House Ashborn sigil showing in the Ministry's ledger, his jaw clenched in a way that suggested he would not sleep well that night.
Flitwick fiddled nervously with a quill and offered a thin smile at intervals, trying to dispel tension.
Hagrid, clueless as ever, ate without any worry at the table.
Across the tables, students whispered and pointed. Some older Slytherins leaned forward with predatory interest—this was their house, after all, the place of cunning and ambition, and a new strong figure in Slytherin was something to be tested.
Ravenclaw heads tilted, cataloguing the oddities and the unusual wand-cores; Hufflepuffs watched with guarded warmth; Gryffindors exchanged looks of both curiosity and caution.
The whisper-net moved fast: "Who are they, truly?" / "Where did they come from?" / "What's with that hand on her shoulder?"
Even the portraits stirred to watch.
Snape's concern, though quiet, travelled quickly to Dumbledore. After the feast, the two of them lingered in the staff room, exchanging dark conjectures and protocol.
Dumbledore insisted on vigilance and offered little.
"We must neither ostracize nor embrace without cause," he said. "Observe and guide them."
McGonagall could not hide the strain in her voice when she remarked, "I will be watching them closely."