One year later, I knew two things for sure:
1. I was a half-blood witch.
2. I was the wrong kind of magical.
My dad had taken me to Ollivanders early—some Ministry favor that let staff kids get pre-matched wand trials before Hogwarts.
I was twelve. Eager. Nervous.
Mr. Ollivander looked me over with a curious squint. "Hmm. Strong aura. Unusual resonance. Let's try… cedar and phoenix feather, twelve inches, springy."
The wand snapped in my grip.
Literally.
Four wands later, Ollivander rubbed his temples and muttered something about "lateral leylines" and "nonstandard magical channels."
Wands didn't work for me.
They sparked or cracked or, once, turned into licorice.
Magic still flowed in me—but sideways, slanted, different.
I was frustrated.
And when I was frustrated, I sketched.
It happened in my room.
I'd just watched a rerun of Sailor Moon Crystal on a smuggled magical-to-Muggle converter box. I was tired, angry, and bitter about being "broken."
So I drew.
The mask was half Sailor Moon, half my own style: crescent moon, gold trim, gentle eyes, silver-blue lines radiating outward.
I didn't mean to activate it.
But my fingers tingled. The parchment shimmered.
The mask formed. And without thinking, I pressed it to my face.
In an instant—
A warm light surrounded me.
I felt lighter, braver.
I stood straighter.
I struck a pose and heard myself declare:
"In the name of the moon, I'll punish—"
I ripped the mask off mid-pose and hurled it across the room.
It hit the wall and shattered into paper shards.
I sat down, trembling.
This wasn't just cosplay magic.
This was identity-altering.
A week later, Dad took me along for a "simple form submission" run to the Ministry. Afterward, we strolled through Diagon Alley.
He bought me a strawberry fizz wand pop and told me I'd get my real wand "when it was ready for me."
But I wasn't listening.
Something tugged at my core. A thread of magic. A pull.
It led me… sideways.
"Dad, can I look at the secondhand shops?"
"Alright, just stay out of Knockturn—"
Too late.
I slipped through the crowd, heart racing, and ducked down a shadowy side alley. The temperature dropped instantly.
I wandered past broken signboards and dusty storefronts until one caught my eye:
> "Carnivale Curiosities: Masks, Memories, and Miracles"
It looked abandoned. The windows were fogged, the lettering faded. But inside, I saw movement—dim candlelight flickering around shelves of strange artifacts.
I pushed open the door.
A bell chimed. The kind of chime that echoed in your bones.
An old witch with a hunched back and an eye patch greeted me without looking up. "Mask-seeker," she rasped. "You're early."
"…Excuse me?"
She slid a black box across the counter.
Inside was a single blank porcelain mask. Pure white. Smooth. Unpainted.
But when I touched it, it warmed. Pulsed.
It knew me.
"How much?" I whispered.
The witch smiled with too many teeth. "For you? One vow."
"…What kind?"
"That you'll only wear masks you understand. Deeply. Intimately. That you'll respect the soul within."
I hesitated.
And nodded.
She nodded back. "Good girl."
That night, I unwrapped the mask on my bed.
It shimmered faintly. Waiting.
I touched the edges, and the porcelain surface rippled—just slightly—as if it were breathing.
Then I heard it.
A whisper. Quiet. But real.
"…Reina…"
I froze.
"…More will come…"
The mask settled. Silent.
I woke up with an owl sitting on my face.
"GAH—!"
The creature hooted indignantly and flapped off, knocking over two books, a jar of glittering ink, and a very cursed teacup.
There were four more owls perched around the room, and each held a scroll sealed with crimson wax.
They'd broken in through the chimney, window, and my transfiguration notebook.
This was it.
My Hogwarts letter had arrived.
Dear Miss Reina Grimhart,
We are pleased to inform you…
I barely registered the rest. My fingers trembled as I read it a second, third, and fourth time. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a Quidditch snitch on espresso.
After years of waiting… after dying and being reborn…
I was finally going to Hogwarts.
I took everything.
My art supplies, a stack of sketchbooks (with carefully crafted mask concepts), my hidden stash of manga, two enchanted Muggle notebooks, and of course—my mask kit.
The porcelain mask from Knockturn Alley had since merged into my aura, slipping into my trunk as a flat circle of energy sealed inside a canvas case. Only I could open it.
My parents didn't notice. Dad was busy floo-calling Aunt Bramble about Ravenclaw socks. Mum was tweaking my hair so it would "auto-comb under duress."
"I'm proud of you," she said quietly before we left.
It almost broke me.
Because they didn't know the truth.
They didn't know I was someone else. Someone older, stranger, cracked in a hundred places and still learning who she was.
I just nodded. "Thanks, Mum."
The brick barrier shimmered.
"Run like you mean it," Dad said. "Not like you're sneaking into a film theater."
Mum muttered something about quantum overlap and clapped me on the back. "See you at Christmas."
I ran.
The wall folded around me like mist—
—and then I was through.
The platform smelled like steam and caramel. The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express hissed under the rising sun.
And for the first time in both of my lives… I was home.
I wandered down the train, trunk rattling behind me, looking for a seat.
Most compartments were full. Loud boys, prim girls, upper-year chaos. Finally, I found one with only a nervous boy and a large, sleepy toad.
"Mind if I—?"
The boy looked up and smiled nervously. "No! I mean—yes! I mean—please sit!"
I slid in, grateful.
"I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."
"Reina," I said. "Reina Grimhart."
"Are you a first year too?"
"Yeah."
"You don't sound like you're from around here."
"Uh. Complicated parents?"
He nodded like he understood completely.
A few minutes later, the door opened again—and Harry Potter walked in.
He looked smaller than I imagined. Tired. Unsure. The scar was there, barely visible under his messy fringe.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked.
Neville scooted aside.
"Name's Harry."
"I know," I said before I could stop myself.
He blinked. "You do?"
"Er—heard about you. In… books."
I could practically feel my soul cringe.
Then the door slammed open again.
"I'm Hermione Granger. Are you sure you've tried the counterclockwise tapping sequence? Only the conductor said—oh!"
She paused, eyeing all of us.
"I suppose this is the only uncrowded car left."
She sat.
We all stared at each other.
"Right," she said. "Let's establish conversational ground rules—".
We didn't make it halfway to Hogwarts before it happened.
A magical stowaway creature—a puffskein-turned-something—weird—burst loose in the corridor, tripping spells and setting off magical chain reactions.
Screams rang out. Sparks flew.
It was about to hit a terrified first-year with a shockwave of unstable hex discharge—
And I didn't think.
I acted.
From my bag, I ripped out the Sailor Moon mask I'd redrawn and stabilized the week before.
I pressed it to my face.
Light. Warmth. Transformation.
The magic surged through me, wrapping my limbs in invisible ribbons of power. I stood tall, eyes glowing, voice not entirely mine:
"In the name of the moon—I'll protect you!"
I raised my arm and conjured a shield of crescent energy, catching the blast. The creature blinked, confused. I smiled softly and whispered, "Sleep."
A soft wave of pink sparkles pulsed out—and the creature dozed off mid-air, collapsing into a fuzzy puffball.
The corridor was dead silent.
I ripped the mask off and shoved it into my coat.
Hermione's jaw was on the floor.
Neville looked like I'd just turned into Merlin.
Harry stared at me like he'd seen a ghost.
"…That was wicked," he whispered.
I sat down, heart pounding. "Just… lucky spellwork."
Hermione squinted. "That wasn't any spell I've read. And believe me, I've read seventy-three so far."
I gave her my best innocent smile.
"Must've been a fluke."
But I knew better.
That night, far away in his tower, Albus Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles.
A silvery memory shimmered in his pensieve—a flash of a girl with starlight in her hands.
"She's arrived," he murmured. "The Maskbearer walks among us."