The train came to a rattling stop with a screech that echoed through the Scottish Highlands like the final note of a symphony. The compartments shuddered once, then everything stilled. For a moment, the world was silent—until a sudden chorus of excited voices flooded the corridor.
"We're here!"
"Hurry, don't forget your owl!"
"Is that mist outside? I can't see anything!"
Daphne stood, smoothing her robes with aristocratic precision, while I tossed my bag over one shoulder and took a final glance around our now-candy-strewn compartment.
"Well," She said, "this is it."
"You are not going to get rid of me that easily Princess."
"I am hoping not to Jon."
She smiled and nodded, her mask slipping back into place.
But beneath it, I could still see the glint of excitement—and something else. Anticipation? Fear? Maybe both.
We stepped out together.
The platform outside was cloaked in thick fog, curling around ankles like curious spirits.
The night had fully descended now, blanketing everything in a velvety darkness broken only by glowing lanterns.
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!" came a booming voice.
I turned toward it—and saw a literal giant.
'Ah, Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of keys and ground at Hogwarts. Can' say I am a fan of him.'
A massive man with a beard like a living forest and eyes kind enough to melt mountains stood waving a lantern high in the air. "Come on now, this way! Don' be shy!"
Daphne's hand brushed mine.
Whether it was on purpose or accident, I didn't pull away.
More Like I did not want to.
'Fuck, what are you doing to me princess?'
The first-years gathered in a half-circle around him like moths to a bonfire.
Dozens of wide-eyed kids whispered to one another in awe, fear, and thrill.
"I'm Hagrid," the giant said proudly, "Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Follow me!"
We did.
The path led downhill through the misty woods, pebbles crunching underfoot, until it opened up onto a black mirror of a lake.
Dozens of small wooden boats bobbed on the shore, tied to crooked wooden stakes.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called.
Daphne and I found one near the front. A pale boy with silver-blonde hair—Malfoy, I guessed—climbed in with one of his two flunkies.
Daphne ignored them and sat beside me.
The boats began to drift forward.
I don't remember the moment our boat cast off, only the sensation of floating, like we were no longer tethered to the earth at all.
The lake was so dark and still, it felt like we were drifting across the sky.
Then, the fog parted.
Gasps rose like a breath held too long finally released.
There, towering on a cliff, glowing golden through the night mist—Hogwarts.
The castle.
It was a cathedral of imagination made real: spires that reached for the stars, windows like eyes burning with secrets, and bridges arching through the sky like stone rainbows. It wasn't just beautiful—it was sacred.
'Damn, all I need is a knight's armor then it will be full knights and fantasy mode on.'
Even Daphne was breathless.
The boats carried us silently across the water until we reached a small underground harbor.
Hagrid guided us through a tunnel that opened up into a narrow path, torch-lit and echoing with quiet footsteps.
Soon, we were standing at the foot of an enormous oak door, flanked by stone columns and ancient gargoyles.
Hagrid knocked once.
The door creaked open.
A tall witch with robes so crisp they could cut glass stood waiting.
"Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said with a nod.
"Thank you, Hagrid," she replied with clipped formality.
Then she turned her eyes on us—sharp, intelligent, and not to be trifled with.
When our eyes meet it remain their a fraction of second before she averted her gaze from me.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates in the Great Hall. Before the term begins, however, you must be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a ceremony every student must undergo."
She began pacing slightly. "The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your House will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule-breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup—a great honor."
Her gaze was a scalpel. "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few moments. Please wait quietly until I return."
She swept away like a storm given human form.
Daphne whispered, "She's terrifying."
"More like boring." I replied.
A soft smile tugged her lips hearing my response, which she quickly hid from me.
As we waited, I heard someone behind me whisper, "I hope I'm in Gryffindor."
Another voice chimed in, "Slytherin is where the real power is."
Daphne's shoulders stiffened.
Before long, McGonagall returned. "We're ready. Follow me."
We ascended a grand staircase and passed through a massive set of double doors—
—and stepped into the Great Hall.
The ceiling shimmered like open sky, stars winking above. Candles floated midair, casting a warm golden glow across four long tables. At the front sat a raised dais where teachers watched us like celestial judges.
In the center of the hall, a small stool stood.
And atop it—
A tattered, ancient wizard's hat.
It twitched.
It sang.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry,
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin,
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means,
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
The Sorting began.
Names were called alphabetically. One by one, children sat on the stool, the Hat was placed on their head, and after brief conversation, it would shout:
"GRYFFINDOR!" or "HUFFLEPUFF!" or "RAVENCLAW!" or "SLYTHERIN!"
Cheers erupted from each House table accordingly.
When they called, "Greengrass, Daphne," she paused. Looked at me. Then walked to the stool with graceful pride.
The Hat barely touched her head. "SLYTHERIN!" it shouted.
She looked back slightly as she went to her new table.
Then my name called "Jon, Bonds"
I sat.
The Hat slid down over my eyes.
"Ohhh, now this is interesting..."
"I never seen a mind well gaurded as your."
"That's what I want."
"Just put me in Ravenclaw."
"Are you certain that' what you want?"
"Indeed."
"Very well."
"RAVENCLAW!"
I removed the hat from my head. And my eyes found Daphne's she slightly nodded.
And I smiled. The I moved towards the Ravenclaw table.
The Ravenclaw table was warm. Smiling faces, curious eyes. Padma Patil offered a spot beside her.
A boy named Terry Boot nodded politely. I took the seat quietly.
The Great Hall was enormous—lit with floating candles, the bewitched ceiling mirroring the stormy night sky.
The four House banners hung proud and tall. Across the room, I spotted her again.
Daphne. She was seated at the Slytherin table, back ramrod straight, hands folded neatly over her green-and-silver robes. Her expression was a mask—cool, unreadable.
But then her eyes found mine, and something flickered. A slight tilt of her lips. A curl of acknowledgment. She'd seen me Sorted. She'd heard the Hat name me.
And she smiled.
'Ohhh! What the fuck are you doing to me princess.'
Albus Dumbledore stood, and the room fell instantly silent. Every student leaned forward, enchanted by his sheer presence. He welcomed us with warmth that wasn't fake or he let it seem.
His eyes twinkled, his voice deep but merry. He mentioned the Forbidden Forest. The third-floor corridor. The rules.
'Really the greatest manipulator for the greater fucking good.'
The food appeared—mountains of it—and my brain shut off logic for five minutes as I discovered buttered potatoes and roasted chicken like it was a religion.
I stole glances at Daphne throughout the feast. Once or twice, she looked up too. Just long enough to meet my eyes. Then she'd look away, pretending it never happened.
The kind of pretend that meant it absolutely did.
I looked at the staff table and found my weird friend looking at me I simply smiled at him as he raised his glass slightly in acknowledgement.
'Man I forgot about him. I should have seen his reaction when I entered it's must been priceless.'
After the feast and Dumbledore's whimsical "Nonsense Words" closing line, the Ravenclaw Prefects gathered us like gentle sheepdogs.
The older students led us through endless staircases and turning corridors that changed when you weren't looking.
I memorized every twist, every magical detail. I couldn't help it. The castle was alive. Finally, we reached a tall door with an eagle-shaped knocker.
The prefect turned to us. "Unlike other Houses, Ravenclaw doesn't use passwords. You have to answer a riddle to get in." He knocked.
The eagle spoke: "What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?"
Silence. Someone whispered, "Er... an eclipse?"
I stepped forward. "The letter M."
The door swung open instantly.
Gasps.
A few students turned to stare.
The prefect smiled. "Well done."
We stepped into the common room.
It was... breathtaking. A dome-shaped space with high, arched windows.
Midnight-blue ceilings dusted with stars. Bookcases lined the walls, packed with volumes that pulsed faintly with enchantments. Sofas encircled a pale-blue fire.
Professor Flitwick was waiting for us.
The smallest man I'd ever seen, but full of sparkle and speed.
"Welcome, Ravenclaws! I am Professor Flitwick—your Head of House. In this tower, we prize wit, creativity, and clarity. Think before you speak. Observe before you act. And most of all—never stop asking questions."
He beamed at us. "Now, each of you has been assigned your own bedroom, personalized with your House colors. You'll find your trunks already waiting."
'Yeah that's one of the main reason I picked the Ravenclaw.'
The prefects guided us down a spiral staircase.
My room was the third on the right. The door was marked simply: Jon.
I entered. It was small but impossibly cozy.
Midnight blue curtains.
A bed like a cloud.
A desk by the window.
A shelf already filled with blank parchment and a quill that sparkled at the tip.
A view that looked out over the Black Lake, moonlight glinting off its surface.
I sat on the bed, letting it all catch up. I'm here.
I didn't think I'd ever be here. Not at Hogwarts. Not anywhere magical.
'Sometimes I am scared that, this is all a dream.'
And my thoughts started to drifted towards Daphne.
Her laughter. Her confusion over sour belts. Her foot brushing mine on the train. That slight touch of warmth she hid under sarcasm. The way she stood up to Crabbe and Goyle like it was nothing.
'Princess you have no idea what kind of demon you just have tamed.'
I lay back on the bed, eyes to the ceiling.
A thousand thoughts swirled, but hers was the last.
Daphne.
I fell asleep smiling.
Daphne – Slytherin Dungeon
The Slytherin common room was carved deep into the dungeons, beneath the lake. The walls shimmered with green light from the water outside. Everything was silver, shadowed, quiet. It wasn't cold—but it was colder than Jon.
She sat on her bed, letting Pansy Parkinson chatter beside her.
But Daphne wasn't listening.
She was remembering.
His face under the Sorting Hat. The moment they called, "Ravenclaw!" and how his eyes had searched the tables—searching for her.
And finding her.
That look had meant something. More than curiosity. More than gratitude for a shared snack or a defended moment.
It meant I see you.
She had never been seen like that before.
Not by the cold eyes of pure-blood boys. Not by her parents. Not by her little sister. Not even by herself.
By no means her parents did not love her or her little sister, But that look, the one Jon gave her It was special, like it was only meant for her and her alone.
Only him.
She touched her lips.
"Strange is better than boring."
She whispered it into her pillow.
And smiled.
The kind of smile you don't let anyone see.