The train gave a final shuddering whistle as it slowed, steam billowing around the platform. Rain hammered against the windows, drumming so loudly that it muffled even the excited chatter of the students. The sky outside was iron-grey, the storm above unrelenting.
Inside the compartment, Eira rose from her seat and reached for her pouch—though she had little need of it, most of her belongings being neatly stored away in her system space. Still, appearances mattered. Luna, already fastening her Ravenclaw tie, glanced at her dreamily.
"We'd best change into our uniforms," she said matter-of-factly, as if the idea had floated into her mind like a Wrackspurt.
Eira nodded. She took out her robes and, within minutes, was clad in the Hogwarts uniform. The black fabric contrasted strikingly with her pale complexion and white hair, which gleamed against the dark cloth like starlight against a night sky. Even Luna, who rarely looked at things directly, tilted her head and blinked at her as though seeing something otherworldly.
"You look like a shadow with a crown of light," Luna murmured.
Eira only smiled faintly, adjusting her cloak. "Thank you."
When the train ground to a halt, the corridors filled quickly with jostling students. Excitement, nerves, and the shrill calls of prefects carried above the noise. Outside, the storm raged on. Older students moved toward the line of carriages waiting beyond the rain-slick platform. The creatures pulling them—tall, skeletal, and leathery-winged—were visible to some, invisible to others. Thestrals, Eira remembered. Creatures that could only be seen by those who had witnessed death and she too could see them.
Luna, drifting serenely toward the carriages, turned back to wave. "See you at the castle, Eira."
Eira inclined her head. She did not join her, however. Instead, she turned toward the group of wide-eyed first-years gathering nervously under the rain. She was not required to be with them—this would technically be her fourth year—but tradition was tradition. Any student newly admitted to Hogwarts crossed the Black Lake by boat.
So Eira, ignoring the puzzled glances of some staff, fell into step behind the smaller children.
"Firs'-years!" a booming voice called through the storm. "Firs'-years, this way! Over here now!"
Hagrid stood tall and broad, his hair plastered to his massive shoulders by the rain. His lantern swung in the gloom, its golden light flickering against the sheets of water.
"Come on now—boats are waitin'!" he bellowed.
The group shuffled down the slippery path, the rain soaking through cloaks and hats. Eira raised her wand discreetly. A swirl of magic burst from its tip, forming a shimmering umbrella above her boat as she stepped inside. Three other first-years clambered in with her, looking miserably wet until the shelter spread over them. Their wide-eyed gratitude made Eira's lips twitch in the faintest of smiles.
"Thank you," a small boy whispered, clutching his toad.
"You're welcome," Eira replied simply.
Hagrid's voice boomed again, echoing off the waters. "Right then—FORWARD!"
The boats lurched and glided across the dark, rippling surface of the Black Lake. Rain splashed like silver darts against the conjured umbrella, sliding harmlessly away. Eira's eyes lifted to the far shore, and despite the storm, she felt her breath catch.
There, through the mist and rain, loomed the castle.
Hogwarts rose from the craggy cliffs like a vision from another world—towers piercing the clouds, windows glowing like scattered stars against stone walls. Even under the veil of storm, it was beautiful. A fortress and sanctuary both, surrounded by forest and lake, timeless and untouchable.
The younger students gasped in awe, whispering nervously among themselves. Eira remained silent, her gaze lingering on the turrets and spires. She had seen the castle once before, when Dumbledore had summoned her, but this was different. Then, she had been a guest. Tonight, she came as a student.
The boats bumped softly against the shore. One by one, the first-years scrambled out, guided by Hagrid's lantern. Eira followed, her cloak sweeping behind her as the rain hissed down around them.
"Follow me, firs'-years!" Hagrid called, leading them up the stone steps that wound into the castle's shadow. The heavy doors creaked open, and they stepped into the entrance hall, blessedly dry and warm.
Professor McGonagall awaited them, her tartan robes immaculate despite the storm outside. Her sharp gaze swept over the crowd of dripping first-years before briefly flicking—ever so slightly—to Eira. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, her voice crisp and commanding. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is of great importance, for while you are here, your House will be something like your family. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."
The first-years shifted nervously, their faces pale. McGonagall continued, her tone steady but laced with pride.
"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points. Any rule-breaking, however, will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor indeed."
Her gaze swept over them again, assessing, measuring. Then she gave a short nod. "Now, follow me."
The group was ushered through the great double doors into the Great Hall. Eira's steps slowed as she entered.
The hall was vast, the enchanted ceiling mirroring the storm outside—dark clouds and flashes of lightning rolling above their heads. Thousands of floating candles flickered in midair, casting a warm golden glow over four long tables filled with older students. The sound of their whispers and stares filled the chamber as the line of first-years entered.
Eira's eyes lingered on the grandeur of it all—the glittering plates and goblets, the banners of the Houses, the staff table at the front. And there, presiding over it all, sat Albus Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with their usual mirth behind his half-moon glasses.
At the center of the dais, on a stool, sat the Sorting Hat.
It twitched. Then, with a loud rip in its brim, it began to sing.
Its voice echoed through the hall, weaving verses about courage, loyalty, wit, and ambition. The students listened, some entranced, some anxious. Eira listened as well, her arms folded loosely before her. The words were clever, old, and full of meaning.
When the hat finished, applause rang out. Dumbledore rose to his feet, his eyes glinting.
"Thank you, Sorting Hat," he said cheerfully. "That was a wonderful performance, as always. Now—let us begin the Sorting. Professor McGonagall?"
She stepped forward with the roll of parchment, unfurling it with a practiced snap. The hall hushed.
One by one, names were called. Nervous children scurried forward, the hat was placed upon their heads, and cheers erupted as Houses gained their new members. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin—the traditions carried on, each name met with claps or groans.
Eira watched silently from the back of the line, her pale eyes roaming the hall, memorizing faces, tables, banners. She stood taller than most of the children around her, a strange figure among them—neither truly one of them, nor apart.
At last, McGonagall's voice rang out above the hall again. Her eyes flickered toward Eira.
"White, Eira White ."
And the hall fell into a hush.