The night's torrential rain died out quietly at dawn.
A thin veil of mist draped itself over Hogwarts' damp lawns, soft and gauzy in the early light.
From the castle entrance, a peculiar procession snaked its way out into the grey morning.
At the very front ran the upper-year couples. In the gaps between their panting breaths, they managed to exchange lingering looks and brush their fingertips together, sweat and hormones fermenting in the morning mist, turning what should have been a jog into something closer to a public date.
Sandwiched carefully in the middle was a large cluster of bleary-eyed first-years, all of them sporting expressions of unusual, almost alarming, determination. Their little faces were flushed red, their breath coming in ragged gasps, but their eyes burned with the sacred fire of house devotion.
Behind them, the upper-years wore identical smiles — the knowing, barely-contained kind. Watching the first-years charge forward with expressions that screamed I am dying for my house was one of the few true pleasures the start of term had to offer.
The back half of the procession shifted the mood entirely.
A cluster of students jogged along in focused silence, lips moving without sound, fingers tracing invisible patterns through the air, practicing the mouth shapes and hand gestures for Silent Spells mid-run. This was the Fragmented Time Efficiency Method, Professor Holmes' signature contribution to the Hogwarts morning routine.
In the professor's own words: "I fully expect you all to become the next generation of grinders."
And at the very end of the procession came the group with the most serious energy of all.
Neville Longbottom led the way, the members of the Whirlwind Sword Club falling into step behind him, each with a practice longsword strapped to their back by leather belts. In the pale morning light, the metal hilts caught the grey and glinted cold. Their strides were steady and deliberate, their breathing long and even. This was clearly just a warm-up to them — a morning ritual as natural as waking up.
From a window in the second-floor Transfiguration office, Douglas watched the whole spectacle unfold over a cup of hot tea. He had been about to start his own morning workout when Professor McGonagall had pulled him aside to talk through some arrangements for the new term.
"Professor," he said, glancing at the stern face beside him, "aren't you going to stop them? Deceiving first-year students has to violate at least a dozen school rules."
Professor McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin, strict line. Behind her glasses, however, her expression landed somewhere between exasperation and helpless amusement.
"I should put every last one of them in detention," she said. "Especially those Weasley twins."
She made no move to go anywhere.
"But," she added, after a pause, "I have to admit — this year's first-years look more energetic than any class I can remember."
The morning run tradition that had swept through the entire first-year population had been born the night before.
Rewind.
When the noise of the Opening Feast finally faded and the four houses retreated to their common rooms, each one staged a welcome scam of its own. Similar in scheme. Completely different in style.
---
In Gryffindor Tower, the fireplace roared and the flames burned a deep, hungry red.
Fred and George stood on the armchairs, their expressions carrying all the gravity two people had ever managed to produce in their combined lifetime.
"Listen up, little lions," Fred said, clearing his throat.
"Hogwarts' most sacred and ancient tradition is the first-year morning run. It is the ultimate test of courage."
George picked up the thread without missing a beat, his voice solemn. "The ultimate test."
"For hundreds of years, only the bravest Gryffindors have kept up the morning run for an entire year."
A small boy raised his hand, looking uncertain. "But... the timetable says there's physical training tomorrow..."
Fred shook his head slowly, pained.
"That's exactly the point. True courage means you never let a class schedule get in the way of tradition. That is the Gryffindor spirit."
George leaned in and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "And first-years who stick with it all year get secret bonus points from the Head's office. At the end of term."
The first-years' eyes went wide.
Harry stared very hard at the exercise book in his lap, his shoulders shaking. He did not look up. Ron had buried his face in Hermione's new school-year planner and seemed to have found it suddenly fascinating.
---
The Hufflepuff common room sat on the basement level, near the kitchens. The air carried a quiet scent of baking bread and warm earth.
Cedric Diggory watched the scene play out and said nothing to stop it.
"We Hufflepuffs never shy away from hard work," a sixth-year girl told the first-years, her voice gentle but firm. "The morning run isn't about showing off. It's about building perseverance and endurance."
"It's mandatory physical training for all first-years. Professor Lupin will be supervising personally."
She gestured toward the badger tapestry on the wall.
"We need to show everyone that Hufflepuff is always the most hardworking, and the most united."
A few students who'd been quietly tasting new recipes they'd developed over summer holidays could not hold it together. Food went everywhere.
---
Ravenclaw Tower had no fireplace warmth, only the cool shadows of star charts and bookshelves.
A cluster of upper-years had gathered around a complicated diagram and appeared to be having a very serious discussion. The first-years drifted over, curious.
"Look at this curve," said a boy with thick glasses, tapping it with his wand. "According to fifty years of compiled data, the brain's magical absorption efficiency peaks in the early morning hours."
"Moderate aerobic exercise increases that efficiency significantly."
He pushed his glasses up. The lenses caught the light.
"In practical terms: one year of consistent morning runs, and you'll be getting twice the results for half the effort in Charms. We Ravenclaws don't waste motion. Every run is an investment in more efficient learning."
One Muggle-born first-year's face lit up with revelation. "Oh! It's a scientific training methodology!"
Out of the first-years' line of sight, several upper-years exchanged quiet smiles.
---
The Slytherin dungeon sat cold and still, green light filtering in through the water overhead, giving the common room its familiar chill.
A group of upper-years stood in front of the first-years, faces composed and humorless.
"Slytherin's code is honor and self-discipline," said a tall boy, his voice carrying a slight echo off the stone. "Do you think you're here for fun? Look at the Gryffindors, wandering around grinning like idiots."
His gaze moved across the first-years' pale faces.
"The morning run is the first test for new students. Don't let me see anyone turn up late because they couldn't drag themselves out of bed. Slytherin doesn't keep weak people."
"Every action you take reflects on this house. Don't give those lions anything to laugh about."
---
And so the grand procession came to be.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Remus Lupin had just stepped out of a tree hollow. He stretched, breathing in the clean post-rain air, and turned his gaze toward the castle.
What he saw stopped him cold.
He had spent the night at the camp, helping a few of the werewolf children with their studies. He had not expected to return to find that Hogwarts had, overnight, developed a spectacular new institution.
He watched the upper-years doing their best not to visibly laugh, and shook his head slowly.
"Youth," he murmured. "What a thing."
He blew his whistle and stepped forward to take charge of the chaotic, vibrant, thoroughly conned procession moving toward him.
"Alright, everyone. Keep up."
---
Behind the window, Douglas took a slow sip of tea.
"You see, Professor," he said, with a quiet smile, "courage and honor to inspire them. Diligence and unity to rally them. Knowledge and efficiency to entice them. Ambition and pride to drive them."
He watched the long, running line below , flushed faces, swinging sword hilts, moving lips rehearsing silent spells, couples sneaking glances , every thread of it alive.
"This is what Hogwarts is supposed to look like." His voice carried something steady and genuine beneath the lightness. "A real school of magic. Full of energy, full of cunning, hungry for knowledge, burning with ambition."
➤ Next: The Strictest Exam Hall in History, Moody's 360-Degree No-Blind-Spot Surveill...
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