As the train clattered northward, conversation turned to the question every first-year eventually asked.
"So," Madison said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "which Houses do you hope for?"
Albus answered immediately. "Gryffindor. My father says it's a House of courage and conviction. Reckless, maybe, but brave."
Victor smirked. "Reckless sounds about right."
Albus shot him a look, but there was no real anger in it.
"And you, Madison?" Victor continued, deliberately. "Or should I say Maddie?"
Madison wrinkled her nose. "Maddie? No one calls me that."
"They do now," Victor teased.
She sighed, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "Ravenclaw. I like the idea of a House for cleverness, for wit. It suits me."
"It does," Victor agreed smoothly. "Though I'd say Ravenclaw also suits me. Or Slytherin."
Madison tilted her head. "Slytherin? You don't strike me as ambitious."
Victor smiled faintly. "Then I've hidden myself well."
Albus leaned forward. "And what if you end up in Gryffindor with me?"
"Then I'll have to rescue you from your own recklessness," Victor said dryly.
They all laughed, the train carrying them closer to the life that waited.
When they stepped off at Hogsmeade Station, the chill evening air bit sharp against their faces. A lantern swung high above the crowd, and a booming voice called: "First-years! This way! First-years!"
The group followed down a path until the trees parted, and there it was: Hogwarts. Towers stretched skyward, windows aglow with golden light, its reflection shimmering across the black glass of the lake.
The sight pulled the breath from every throat.
"Magnifique," Madison whispered.
Even Victor felt a rare flicker of awe.
They climbed into small boats that carried four to a vessel. Victor sat with Albus, Madison, and another nervous boy who barely spoke. The boats glided silently across the lake, drawn by enchantments older than any of them.
When they reached the shore, a tall witch with a sharp profile and a firm but kind air waited to receive them.
"Professor Matilda Weasley," Albus murmured to Victor, recognizing the name from family talk.
She ushered them inside, herding them through the echoing entrance hall and into the Great Hall itself. Hundreds of candles floated above, casting warm light on four long tables crowded with older students. At the far end, teachers watched from a high dais.
The Sorting Hat sat waiting.
One by one, names were called. Students trembled, laughed, or nearly fainted as the old hat shouted their destinies.
When Albus Dumbledore was called, the hat barely touched his head before announcing: "Gryffindor!"
Madison Dupres followed. She sat with calm composure, though her hands tightened on the stool's edges. After a moment's hum of thought, the hat declared: "Ravenclaw!"
Then: "Victor Sinclair."
He walked forward, steady and measured. The hat slipped over his head, and a voice purred in his mind.
Ah… cunning, discipline, ambition. You'd do well in Slytherin. But also knowledge, hunger for learning, curiosity without end… Ravenclaw would claim you too.
Victor's mind was calm, walls firm, though he let the thought form: Ravenclaw or Slytherin, I will thrive either way.
The hat chuckled. Balanced. Dangerous. Very well…
"Ravenclaw!"
The table of blue and bronze erupted in cheers as Victor slipped off the stool. He caught Albus's eye across the hall — Gryffindor red glowing at his chest — and Madison's smile from Ravenclaw's table.
The night stretched long with food, laughter, and introductions, but eventually first-years were led to their dormitories.
Victor entered the Ravenclaw tower, climbing the spiral staircase to a circular common room lined with tall windows. It was serene, intelligent, almost humming with quiet thought.
He followed the others to their dormitory, but while the others collapsed into bed, Victor did not.
Instead, as the room darkened, he sat cross-legged, wand hidden beneath his pillow. He reached deep into his magic, pulling and pulling until his body trembled, until sweat ran cold down his skin.
Exhaustion is the forge. Break, replenish, grow stronger.
Even here, in the heart of Hogwarts, with destiny stretching before him, Victor would not let his discipline slip.
Only when his reserves burned low did he finally fall into sleep.
The next morning dawned cold and clear, light spilling through the tall windows of the Ravenclaw tower. Victor rose before most of his dorm mates, the ache from last night's training a welcome companion.
Down in the Great Hall, he spotted Madison at the Ravenclaw table, already bent over a book. Albus waved from Gryffindor.
"First day," Madison said as Victor sat beside her. "Nervous?"
"Eager," he replied.
Their first class was Transfiguration with Professor Matilda Weasley. The room smelled of parchment and ash; matchsticks were set neatly on each desk.
"Your task," Professor Weasley said, "is to turn the matchstick into a needle. Precision and intent."
Victor's wand cut the air once. The matchstick thinned to silver, gleaming perfectly.
Professor Weasley's eyes flicked over. "Elegant work, Mr. Sinclair. Ten points to Ravenclaw."
Across the aisle, Albus' needle shone just as bright.
"Mr. Dumbledore—confident casting. Five points to Gryffindor."
Madison's transformation came a breath later—clean, delicate.
"Miss Dupres, excellent control. Five points to Ravenclaw."
—
Charms with Professor Abraham Ronen followed, the room alive with his buoyant energy.
"Wingardium Leviosa! Swish and flick, and please don't send my furniture into orbit," Ronen quipped.
Victor's feather rose smoothly and hovered, steady as a held breath.
"Textbook levitation, Mr. Sinclair. Five points to Ravenclaw!"
Madison's feather traced a neat spiral, then settled exactly where she willed it.
"Artful touch, Miss Dupres. Five more to Ravenclaw. Very tasteful!"
Albus' feather shot up too fast, wobbled, then steadied with a grin and a correction.
"Enthusiasm with a recovery—one of my favorites. Three points to Gryffindor, Mr. Dumbledore."
Victor leaned over as they packed up. "It's not a duel, Albus."
"Yet," Albus murmured, eyes dancing.
—
In the cool Potions dungeon, Professor Aesop Sharp surveyed the class like a hawk.
"Cure for Boils," he said. "Read. Measure. Don't improvise unless you enjoy explosions."
Victor followed the instructions precisely, but his brew thickened around the edges—serviceable, not elegant.
Sharp glanced in. "Adequate, Mr. Sinclair. Keep your heat consistent."
Beside him, Madison's potion turned the exact shade described, steam thin and even.
"Miss Dupres—excellent. Five points to Ravenclaw."
Victor exhaled, mildly irritated at himself. Madison nudged him with her ladle, smirking. "Reading isn't brewing, remember? I'll keep your cauldron alive if you keep my Transfiguration pristine."
"Deal, Maddie," he said, and she pretended not to like the nickname.
—
By day's end, whispers had already started: Victor Sinclair—razor-sharp in Transfiguration and Charms; Madison Dupres—potions savant; Albus Dumbledore—brilliant, a touch dramatic, and very hard to keep up with.
Night settled over the towers. While the dormitory quieted, Victor drew his curtains and sank into the discipline that had forged him: drawing on his magic until his limbs trembled, then letting the well refill.
To Be Continued…