" Eira White!"
The name rang out across the Great Hall, spoken with crisp clarity by Professor McGonagall.
A hush swept the chamber. The long tables of students, alive with chatter only a moment before, fell into expectant silence. All eyes turned toward the white-haired girl who now rose from the group of first years waiting at the front.
Eira walked forward at a steady pace, unhurried, her back straight and movements composed. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling showed sheets of rain sweeping across a storm-dark sky, the flashes of lightning casting brief silver highlights over her pale hair. In the shifting light, her green eyes held a cool, steady gleam as every step carried her closer to the front of the hall.
Whispers began to stir, first a ripple, then a swell.
"That's her—the White girl."
"She's the matriarch of the White family, isn't she?"
"They say she's also a Hogwarts governor."
"Merlin, she's beautiful."
Some voices carried admiration, others envy.
"So what if she's beautiful?" a sharp voice of a girl sneered from the Gryffindor table. "She's nothing more than a rich girl—lucky she was born into one of the oldest families. That's all."
At the Hufflepuff table, two boys whispered and chuckled.
"Do you think I've got a chance with her?" one asked hopefully.
"In your dreams," his friend snorted. "Look at you. Why would she ever notice?"
"Well, at least I'm not ugly," the first boy shot back. "Maybe she'll go for someone handsome. Maybe I've got a shot."
Murmurs followed her like a tide. Some were awed, some cutting, some openly admiring. The White name was heavy with history, and her presence only deepened the curiosity.
Unbothered by the whispers of the students, Eira walked with quiet grace to the stool at the center of the hall. She sat, smoothing her robes lightly as Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto her head.
The Hat's voice stirred immediately in her mind.
"Hmmm… the noblest of the noble, yes, I see it clear enough. A touch of Beauxbâtons' magic clings to you—how curious, how curious indeed. Calm on the surface, yet a storm beneath. And of course… a White. No wonder the hall whispers your name. But bloodline aside… where to place you, hmm?"
It hummed as though thinking.
"I see wit, a sharpness of mind—Ravenclaw would welcome you. And courage, yes, enough for Gryffindor. But ambition burns steady here, ambition and a cool composure. You would thrive among serpents."
Eira's lips curved faintly, though she remained silent.
"No struggle from you, hmm? I already know where you belong. Very well. Better be… SLYTHERIN!"
The last word boomed across the Great Hall.
The Slytherin table erupted in applause.
From the Slytherin table, a boy leaned toward his friends with a smug smile.
"I told you she'd end up here. Slytherin's for pure-bloods—where else would she go?"
"Of course she's Slytherin."
"Pure-blood, old family, where else?"
A Gryffindor down the table gave a sharp scoff, loud enough for others to hear.
"Of course she would be there. Another Death Eater in the making, reserved already."
Whispers spread quickly, some curious, some envious, some spiteful. A few Ravenclaws craned their necks to get a better look at her, while the Hufflepuffs exchanged uneasy glances, unsure what to think.
Ron leaned across the Gryffindor table toward Harry, keeping his voice low but sharp.
"Hermione keeps going on about her—says she's a friend. But I don't know, mate… she looks more like Malfoy to me. That pure-blood sort, like a proper supremacist."
Harry glanced toward the Slytherin table, curious.
Eira lifted the Sorting Hat and set it carefully back on the stool. As she rose, her school uniform shimmered and shifted—silver accents glinting along the seams, and her tie sliding from grey to deep green, the emblem of Slytherin now stitched proudly across her chest. Calm and unhurried, she walked toward the Slytherin table.
As she sat, the introductions began almost at once.
A girl with dark hair, Gemma Farley, leaned forward with delight shining in her eyes. "Welcome to Slytherin House, Lady White. It is an honor."
Before Eira could reply, a tall boy with sandy hair from the Shafiq family stepped forward eagerly. He reached for her hand, but she didn't offer it—just gave a single, calm nod in acknowledgment.
Undeterred, he grinned and rushed on, words spilling over with praise. "It's an honor to share a House with you. Your presence lifts us all. Slytherin will thrive with someone like you among us. I can only hope to follow even a fraction of the example you set."
The flattery was excessive, but Eira only inclined her head politely.
More students shuffled closer. Two girls in particular rose from their seats, moving toward her with deliberate formality.
They stopped, bowed, and introduced themselves in perfect unison.
"I am Daphne Greengrass," said the elder, her expression composed, nearly cold.
"And I am Astoria Greengrass," added the younger, softer-voiced, her cheeks pink.
"We are honored to welcome the Matriarch of the White family," Daphne continued smoothly.
Eira gave them a small, kind smile. "Please—sit. We are all students here. No need for such formality. Relax."
Daphne's face hardly shifted, though her eyes flickered with restrained respect. Astoria, however, giggled faintly as she sat down, bashful but earnest.
"I've read about you," Astoria admitted quickly, her words tumbling out. "Your speeches in the Daily Prophet, and in the French papers too—I know so much already. It's amazing to finally meet you."
Her sister nudged her sharply. "Astoria. Show restraint."
But Eira's smile only warmed a little. "There's no harm in honesty."
The Sorting continued as more names were called. One by one, students crossed the floor, placed beneath the Hat, and were sent to their houses.
Then Professor McGonagall's voice carried again.
"Isaac Rowen!"
Heads turned. A murmur passed through the hall. The surname carried weight—an American pure-blood family, known among the Twelve Aurors' descendants.
A boy strode forward, taller and looked older than most first-years, with black hair and a steady, deliberate gait. His blue eyes caught the torchlight as he moved toward the stool.
Eira noticed, faintly, that she had not seen him among the boats or the crowd entering the castle. He must have arrived separately, later than the others.
Professor McGonagall settled the Hat upon his head. It hardly lingered before declaring, "RAVENCLAW!"
The Ravenclaw table clapped as Isaac removed the Hat and walked toward them. But as he did, his gaze flicked with undisguised interest toward Eira. His blue eyes lingered a heartbeat too long before he sat among his new housemates.
Eira, serene as ever, merely shifted her gaze forward.
The Sorting went on.
(Isaac Rowen )