The rain had not stopped since the train shuddered to its abrupt halt, and Cela found herself hurrying along with the rest of the new students as they were ushered outside. The storm pressed against them like a heavy curtain, water soaking through cloaks and dripping into eyes, but the children still clustered close, following the large lantern bobbing in the distance.
"Watch your step, it's muddy!" Hagrid's booming voice rang out in its familiar tone. Cela clutched her satchel strap tightly, trailing the group of nervous first-years
down the slick, slippery slope.
The earth squelched softly underfoot, rain pooling in shallow ruts, while a biting wind swept through. Cela glanced upward once, her breath hitching. High above, through the shifting rain clouds, she glimpsed shadows gliding across the sky. When thunder cracked, their tall, thin figures briefly flared into view—too distant to discern clearly, yet their outlines felt eerily unnatural.
Dementors.
The word chilled her to her bones even before her lips formed it. She shivered, hugging herself, trying not to think of the encounter she had with one of them on the train: creatures that fed on happiness, draining warmth and leaving despair in their wake. She glanced at the other students, but no one spoke of the shadows. Perhaps they didn't want to name them either.
Hagrid's lantern cut through the gloom. "Over here! Mind yer step, there!" he called again, stopping at the edge of the Black Lake.
Cela's breath caught a second time, but this time not from fear. The lake stretched vast and dark, the surface rippling with raindrops like tiny silver needles. Beyond it, barely visible through sheets of rain, the towering silhouette of a castle rose, lights glowing golden in the distance. Even blurred by the storm, Hogwarts was magnificent. It loomed like a dream made solid, ancient and proud, its turrets piercing the storm clouds.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid barked, gesturing at the little fleet of boats bobbing along the shore.
The students clambered aboard, their cloaks and robes clinging damply to their frames. Cela paused, letting the younger children board the boats first, then stepped toward a smaller vessel. Three faces glanced up at her as she slipped inside, settling onto the slick wooden bench.
Across from her sat a girl with pale blonde hair that clung damply to her cheeks, her large gray eyes lowered in shy discomfort. Beside her, two boys—one sandy-haired with freckles, the other taller and dark-eyed—shifted to make room.
"I'm Cela," she said softly, giving them a quick, uncertain smile.
The boys muttered their names—Rufus and Dorian—but it was the girl who held Cela's attention. The blonde raised her gaze, meeting Cela's eyes with hesitation.
"I—I'm Astoria. Astoria Greengrass." Her voice was gentle, almost reluctant, but she gave a small nod as though bracing herself to speak.
Cela smiled wider. "Nice to meet you, Astoria."
The boats rocked gently as Hagrid's lantern bobbed along the shore. Then, without oar or rope, the little fleet began to glide forward, cutting across the water in eerie silence.
Cela gripped the side of the boat, eyes wide, as the rain fell harder, the droplets misting off the lake's surface. Despite the weather, Hogwarts shone brighter as they drew nearer. It was unreal, like something out of one of her grandfather's old stories—the kind she had heard by the fire in Slughorn house, never believing she would step into them herself.
Astoria pulled her cloak tighter around her. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice almost timid. "Why'd you come now? I mean… you weren't here before, and you look like you should be in fourth year—er, you seem older. Sorry if that's rude."
Cela blinked, briefly tempted to deflect, but Astoria's shy sincerity drew her in. "It's not rude, don't worry," she said softly. "I was homeschooled by my grandfather. He had… personal reasons for keeping me away from Hogwarts."
Astoria tilted her head. "Your grandfather is…?"
"Horace Slughorn," Cela said.
Astoria's eyes widened slightly. "Oh. I—I know him. He came to our house before. A few times."
Cela frowned, surprised. "He did? Really? That's strange. In the last few years, he hasn't had much contact with other families."
Astoria lowered her gaze, her hands tightening in her lap. "He came to… to see me. I'm… not well. Sick."
Cela studied the girl, her features barely discernible in the dim night. Astoria's face was paler than most, her eyes rimmed with redness, a clear sign of an illness—perhaps magical or one that sapped her energy. Cela's mind wandered to her grandfather's frequent outings. She'd always pictured him off to lively parties or drinking with old friends, laughing into the night. Now, though, it dawned on her that those trips might have been to tend to the sick, offering healing to those in need. Yet he'd never once mentioned the Greengrass family, let alone a pure-blood girl like Astoria.
"What kind of sickness?" she asked gently, though the moment the words left her lips, she regretted them.
Astoria looked away, lips pressing together, shoulders curling inwards.
Cela swallowed, realizing her mistake. She leaned back, forcing a light smile. "It doesn't matter. Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. It's just… he hardly talks about anything outside his own circle. I was surprised."
Astoria glanced up briefly, her gray eyes softening, but she said nothing. The boat glided on, and the subject faded into the hush of water and rain.
They drew closer to the castle, its windows glowing like hundreds of watchful eyes. Cela's mouth widened with awe. "It's so beautiful," she whispered, half to herself, half to Astoria. "Ancient looking but… alive."
Astoria's lips curved in a small smile. "Yes. I've been waiting for this day for years."
The boats bumped gently against the landing dock, and Hagrid waved them out. "Everyone out, this way! Watch yer feet, slippery there!"
Cela followed the crowd, her shoes squelching in the mud as they tramped up the wide stone steps. The rain had not let up, but the sight of the massive wooden doors before them made every drop worth it.
The doors creaked open, and they stepped inside. The warmth of the castle hit Cela like a wave, drying her cheeks and lifting her spirits. The air smelled faintly of wax and stone, and the flickering torches painted golden shadows across the vast entrance hall.
Cela's mouth fell open. She whispered to herself, "So this is Hogwarts…"
The other students murmured similar words, eyes darting everywhere.
Before they could wander, a figure emerged—tall, stern with her emerald robes pristine despite the storm outside. Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze swept the group, instantly silencing them.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said crisply. "The start of your magical education begins here. You are about to be sorted into your Houses, where you will live and learn during your years at this school. The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a proud history and noble students. Your House will be your family here."
She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly at the dripping, whispering cluster of children. "I ask you to wait quietly here for a few moments while preparations are made."
With that, she swept away, disappearing through a tall door that, Cela realized with a start, led directly into the Great Hall.
The moment she was gone, chatter burst out among the first-years. Nervous whispers, excited giggles, and speculative guesses about which House they might be sorted into.
Cela lingered near Astoria, glancing around in wonder. The high stone walls seemed to hum faintly with age, and even the silence carried weight.
Then, without warning, several figures drifted through the far wall. Ghosts—pale, shimmering, each with an otherworldly glow.
A few students gasped, others squeaked in fright, but Cela only grinned, unable to help herself. She leaned toward Astoria. "They're beautiful and magical."
Astoria tilted her head, studying them with cautious curiosity.
The ghosts floated closer, one—a jolly-looking friar—beaming as he greeted the new students. "Ah, welcome, welcome to Hogwarts! Don't be afraid, we're only ghosts!"
Cela clasped her hands together, her heart soaring. Everything felt unreal, magical in a way she had only ever dreamed of.
As the ghosts continued their introductions, the heavy wooden door creaked again. Professor McGonagall returned, her expression as sharp as before.
"Now," she said firmly, her gaze sweeping over them once more. "It is time."
The whispers stilled. The first-years froze in anticipation.
Cela's breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest.