The Final Night
Silence stretched across the keep. The torches guttered low, shadows breathing against stone. Void should have been resting—his body renewed, his mind sharpened, his wand humming like a storm barely contained. Yet something stirred in him, deeper than heartbeat: the Isle itself calling.
Drawn downward by an unseen tether, he descended into the Core chamber, ogham script glowing faintly with each step. At the heart lay a stone table, low and broad, carved with spirals of the triskelion. Silver light chased crimson along its edges, pulsing as if newly born of the Isle's will.
When his hand touched the stone, it flared. The Core sang in his veins, resonating with wand, rings, and every scar of magic endured.
And then—something shifted.
Shadow's Return
From the blaze, a hiss uncoiled. Darkness pooled across the table and rose into the shape of a serpent—scales black as obsidian, streaked with silver moonlight. Small curved horns, pure silver, swept back from its head. Its eyes burned pale, calm as Merlin's.
Shadow.
The serpent Void had once lost was reborn; the bond snapped taut again, familiar and fierce. Shadow raised his horned head and hissed like a vow: I return.
The Raven's Birth
The light did not dim. At Shadow's side lay a black egg veined with crimson. It pulsed, cracked, and split.
From the fragments unfurled a raven fledgling: feathers purple-black, wing-tips crimson, talons like bloodfire. Its violet eyes were sharp, already knowing.
Void extended a hand. The bird hopped into it, crying low, storm-edged. Morgana's blood stirred in answer.
"Kuro," Void whispered.
The raven tilted its head, as if it had always borne the name.
The Forgotten Bond
Silver and crimson light wove around serpent and raven, then sank into Void's skin, blooming into tattoos:
A serpent coiled along his forearm, horns gleaming faintly whenever Shadow stirred.
A raven across his shoulder blade, wings outstretched in flight.
Around them, druidic runes—older than Hogwarts, older than wizard law—bound master and familiar in covenant, not chains.
Shadow slipped into ink, horns flashing once before fading. Kuro spread crimson-tipped wings, then melted into his mark, talons scratching a fleeting red across Void's shoulder.
They were no longer companions. They were extensions of his soul, hidden until called.
The chamber itself seemed to breathe. Runes spiraled outward—silver for Merlin, crimson for Morgana—until the hall throbbed with a single heartbeat.
Visions rose:
Merlin, cloaked in grey, a silver-horned serpent about his shoulders. Morgana, storm-haired, a raven perched on her wrist. The serpent and raven looked at Void, then at the familiars bound within him. Recognition passed without words: This was ours. Now it is yours.
Pain seared as the marks spread cold fire through his skin. The Isle's song rose—inheritance, balance long lost.
The Last Companion
A slow tap of a cane broke the silence.
Red stood in the threshold, rune-light etching his lined face—no longer only mentor, but guardian cloaked in Avalon's enchantments.
"It is time," he said. "Time you knew me as more than teacher. I was their friend. Their companion. The last one left."
He stepped closer, cane echoing on stone. "I walked with Merlin and Morgana before stories twisted them. He bound chaos into law. She gave fire to freedom. Together, they might have remade the world."
His eyes dimmed. "But paths diverged. Morgana turned too far into dark magic. Merlin bound himself so tightly to law he grew blind. I watched them quarrel, then clash. Powerless to mend them, I did what I could: I chose to protect what they left behind."
His cane lifted, runes flaring. "When Avalon faded, I bound myself here—not by command, but choice. I swore no thief, tyrant, or Ministry would claim their legacy. I waited—for the heir who bore both serpent and raven. I have outlived dynasties, seen courts crumble, Morgana's name blackened and Merlin's twisted into bureaucracy. Still I kept faith."
His gaze fixed on Void. "Now you stand here. The Isle has chosen. The familiars answered you, not me. I was never meant to rule. Only to wait—for this."
Void's stormlit eyes met his. "I already bear it."
For the first time in centuries, Red smiled with the warmth of a friend whose vigil was ending.
The Weight of Legacy
"You are Lord of Emrys–Le Fay," Red said. "The Wizengamot will feel it the moment you step onto its soil. But beware what they remember."
"They praise Merlin the lawgiver, his serpent carved in silver on their walls. Morgana they remember only as a witch—her raven turned omen, her storm branded corruption. They forget she fought for freedom."
His cane tapped like a gavel. "And now comes Dumbledore. Chief Warlock. 'Merlin of the modern age.' He wears the title gladly, claiming the serpent's crown while letting the raven's truth rot. Not malice—certainty. Certainty only he can hold the scales."
"But you," Red said, pointing to Void's marks, "you carry both. Law and freedom. Order and storm. Balance."
Void's lips curved faintly. "Then let him wear his serpent's crown. I will bear the raven's wings. And I will remind them."
The Sleeping Seats
Void glanced at his marks. "These seats—are they mine already? Or must I claim them? What if I refuse?"
"They are yours by blood," Red answered. "Merlin bound the wards so no parchment or vote could strip them. The instant you step on wizarding Britain's soil—Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, the Ministry—the wards will stir, and they will know the Emrys–Le Fay line lives."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then they sleep. They cannot be stolen. They wait for you—or your bloodline."
Void's eyes glimmered. "So the power never dies. It waits."
The Mask of One
"Three seats," Void murmured. "Can they be veiled as one?"
"They can," Red said. "The wards obey blood, not politics."
Void's marks flared—serpent silver, raven crimson. "Then I name them Le Fay. Let the world fear the mask while the truth sleeps beneath."
Red struck his cane against stone. "A mask of shadow, cloaking the storm. So be it."
The Proxy & the Balance
"If the seats stir when I reach Hogwarts," Void said, "I cannot sit them yet. Who will speak for me?"
"Your proxy. Merlin wrote the clause himself. Until you come of age, one may speak with your voice."
"Then I name you," Void said. "My Companion. My shield. You will be my Proxy."
Red bowed his head. "As you will. Proxy of Le Fay, Emrys… and the Potter branch besides."
Void arched a brow. "Even that?"
"By blood, yes. Harry holds the main line, but a minor seat still falls to you."
Void considered. "With Le Fay and Emrys alone, I outweigh the Light. Even joined with the Dark, they barely match—and they never will. Their hatred binds them apart. Both will seek the one who holds balance."
"Exactly," Red said. "They will need you more than you need them."
Void's lips curved cold. "Then let them bow."
The Quiet Game
"But I need the board set before I step into play," Void continued. "Tell me who clings to Dumbledore. Who still kneels to the Dark. Who waits for change. Map them quietly, without revealing me."
"They'll try to block me," Red warned. "They're used to controlling proxies, clipping heirs with parchment tricks. The wards will laugh at them, but they'll still play the game."
"Let them," Void said. "While they gnash and posture, you'll take their measure. When they make their move, I want the board ready."
Shadow stirred beneath Void's skin. Kuro rustled faint wings. Red nodded once. "By the time your name echoes in their chamber, we'll know exactly where every house stands."
The Wiltons' Cottage
The lane seemed smaller than Void remembered, hedgerows brushing his shoulders. He walked taller now, the suit fitting him like armour disguised as elegance.
When Margaret opened the door, she froze. Richard halted behind her, boots heavy. Even Luna tilted her head, Yue coiling lazily in her lap.
Void's hair fell to his shoulders, black streaked with purple and crimson. His eyes burned violet at the core, edged in silver and red. He looked less boy, more heir.
"You look like—like some lord out of a painting," Richard muttered.
Void laughed softly. "Or something."
Margaret touched his sleeve. "You've changed so much."
"I know," he said gently. "But you gave me a home, treated me as a son. That has helped me more than you know. So I've made arrangements—shops and cottages nearby. Enough income that work will be choice, not necessity. My thanks."
Her eyes welled. Richard said nothing. Luna spoke softly: "That's what families do. They give each other wings."
Void smiled faintly. "And you gave me mine."
The Morning of Departure
The cottage bustled: Margaret fussing with his collar, Richard checking his watch, Luna calm with Yue purring in her lap. A plate of toast and marmalade sat mostly untouched.
"You don't need the train," Luna offered serenely. "The Floo is quicker."
Void caught Margaret's hopeful gaze. He smiled. "The train, then."
Her relief shone. Richard nodded. Luna only tilted her head. "The story begins the same either way."
King's Cross
The station roared with Muggle chaos—porters shouting, whistles shrilling, hot metal and steam thick in the air. A prefect in a black robe half-hidden under a plain coat (a Hufflepuff badge glinting when the fabric shifted) quietly shepherded a cluster of wide-eyed Muggleborns and their parents, demonstrating how to slip through the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Void noted the practiced line: a parent's steadying hand, a nervous laugh, the hush of vanishing through brick. Efficient. Kind. No child left wandering.
He tucked the thought away and let the Wiltons walk him up to the barrier.
Farewell
At the arch, Margaret hugged him tight. Richard clasped his shoulder.
"You'll do well, lad."
"I'll write," Void said. "And I'll be back at Christmas."
Yue twined around his ankles, then hopped neatly onto the trunk. Together, they slipped through the barrier.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
Steam and sound swallowed them. The scarlet Hogwarts Express gleamed; owls hooted in wicker cages; a harried witch scolded a toad. A prefect with a large silver P strode past—Percy Weasley, preening as he barked, "Hurry along now!"
Void stepped into a recess of the arch to watch.
The Weasleys poured through: Molly with her clutch of children; Arthur juggling a battered owl cage (Errol glared balefully); Ginny bouncing on her toes, pleading, "Can't I go now?" and Molly's weary, "You're not old enough, Ginny, and stop fussing."
Harry slipped through alone—thin, uncertain, trunk clattering, Hedwig regal in her cage. Relief flooded his face at Molly's warm instruction: "Packed with Muggles, of course—now, all you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between nine and ten." Within minutes, the twins circled him like joyous comets; Ron hovered close; Ginny stared, breathless: "Good luck!"
Dumbledore writes early, Void thought, watching how quickly the boy was folded into orbit.
Meeting the Weasleys (Platform)
"Oi, Void!" two identical voices sang out.
Fred and George bounded from the steam. "Mum, Dad—this is the mate we told you about—the one who beat us at Exploding Snap—"
"—and told the difference between a Blood-Quill and a fake," the other finished.
Arthur beamed, shaking Void's hand. "Splendid to meet you! Arthur Weasley." Molly offered a brisk nod, eyes flicking over Void's tailored black suit; her mouth set, just a touch.
"You look very… pure-blood," she said. "Rather like the Malfoys."
The twins bristled. "Mum!" Fred snapped.
"That's not fair," George bit out. "Void's nothing like Malfoy."
Arthur raised his hands. "Just a slip—"
Molly flushed. "I know what I meant—"
Void's voice stayed even. "I don't know the Malfoys. But from your sons' reaction, they don't sound like… nice people."
That cracked the tension—the twins snorted, Arthur coughed a laugh, even Molly's lips twitched despite herself.
"Quite," Arthur said, wry.
The whistle screamed. Fred and George grabbed Void's trunk. "Come on, mate—last call!"
Ginny peeked around Molly's robes to wave. "Good luck!"
Void inclined his head. "And to you."
Boarding the Train
They claimed a compartment midway down. Yue was there first—how she'd slipped aboard was a mystery—curled queenlike on the window-ledge. Void set his suit neatly aside, silver thread catching the light, and sat opposite her.
"Right," George said, flopping across the seat. "If you end up in Gryffindor—"
"—clearly the best House," Fred amended—"we'll show you the secret passages."
"And the kitchens," George added. "Top-tier snacks."
Void considered them. "And if I am not in Gryffindor?"
Twin blink. George: "You've read about the Houses?"
"A little." Void's tone stayed mild. "Enough to know the rivalries are… enthusiastic."
Fred grinned. "Enthusiastic is one word. Gryffindor and Slytherin have been at it since brooms had square corners."
"And Muggleborns rarely go Slytherin," George added quickly. "Can't stand all the 'pure-blood' nonsense."
Void only folded his hands. "I will observe."
The Trolley
"Anything off the trolley, dears?" trilled the witch.
Fred and George exploded into motion. "Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes—" A pile materialized.
Void snapped a Frog neatly before it could hop. The card winked up at him: Albus Dumbledore. He turned it once, thoughtful. "Appropriate," he murmured, sliding it into his inner pocket.
Beans were tested—apple, dirt, liver, frog spawn—with due suffering. Yue slipped out into the corridor, tail high.
Yue's Route (Observer's Eye)
Through Yue, Void gathered the carriage's colors:
—Harry and Ron sharing Pumpkin Pasties; Ron mumbling about older brothers and second-hand robes; Harry dividing sweets with an ease that made something old ache in Void's chest.
—Ron's spell from a tatty booklet: "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." Scabbers remained stubbornly brown. Hermione's brisk, "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it?" and her quick "Oculus Reparo" for Harry's glasses; "I've learned all our set books by heart, of course."
—Neville's anxious shuffle—"Trevor? Trevor!"—Hermione promising to help him look; Percy flashing his prefect badge as he strutted past, "Keep moving, first-years!"
Yue flattened her ears when Hermione tried to scoop her, then ghosted away.
Through Yue: Malfoy
The compartment door in Harry's carriage slid back.
Draco Malfoy—pale, immaculate—stepped in with Crabbe and Goyle. "So it's true. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." The practiced drawl, the offered hand. "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. I can help you avoid the wrong sort."
Harry glanced at Ron. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself."
Draco's eyes cut to Ron's robe and rat. "Red hair, hand-me-downs, and a pet rat—must be a Weasley."
Goyle lunged at the heap of Chocolate Frogs and Pasties—then yowled as Scabbers fastened onto his finger. The rat clung, then launched into Ron's lap. Draco recoiled in disgust.
"Enjoy the train ride, Potter," he sneered. "Things will be different at Hogwarts."
They left in a flurry of superiority and sore knuckles. Yue blinked once, satisfied, and melted back into shadow.
Back in his own compartment, the twins argued over whether a mottled Bean was dirt or pepper. Void said softly, "So that is Malfoy. Pride without caution." A beat. "Even the smallest rat can wound the mighty."
The Knock at the Door
Hermione Granger, breathless; Neville Longbottom, pink-faced. "Excuse me—has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
Fred puffed up. "We could try an Accio—"
"—though it's fifty–fifty whether we get Trevor or every frog in Britain," George finished.
Hermione folded her arms. "If you pronounce it correctly, summoning charms are perfectly reliable."
Void's tone stayed even. "A sensible tool used carelessly is still careless. The train's wards are tied to Hogwarts. As your trunks will arrive safely, so will Trevor. When we reach the castle, make him a terrarium—somewhere he feels safe and will stay. Ask me, and I'll help you."
Neville's shoulders eased. "Th–thank you."
Hermione gave Void a long, measuring look; nodded once. "That is… reasonable." To Neville: "Come on. We'll keep looking."
The door slid shut.
Fred exhaled. "You talk people off ledges."
George grinned. "And you saved us from summoning a thousand frogs."
Void smoothed his cuff. "Frogs have their own schedules."
Arrival at Hogsmeade Station
The train screeched as it slowed, lanterns swinging in the dark. Steam hissed across the windows, blurring the platform. Voices rose—students tugging cloaks over half-eaten sweets, owls protesting.
Fred shoved the door open, grinning. "Here we are—Hogsmeade Station."
George stretched. "You'll like this bit. We older years take carriages up."
Fred wagged a finger. "But you—first years get the scenic route."
George's grin widened. "With Hagrid. Lanterns, boats, the whole lot."
Void rose smoothly, brushing imaginary creases from his suit. "And we must change into our robes now?"
"Yep," Fred confirmed. "School rules. If you don't, some charm will do it for you—and it won't be pretty."
"I'll change myself," Void said. "I'd rather not see this suit transfigured into something else."
He donned the standard black robes and uniform, setting the suit aside with care. Even in school kit, his bearing remained calm, aristocratic.
The whistle blew; doors banged open. A familiar call rolled through the mist: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
Fred and George drifted toward the carriages. "That's your cue, mate," Fred called.
"Enjoy the boats!" George added, vanishing into steam.
Void hefted his trunk; Yue trotted at his heel. He followed the lantern's glow into the night.
The Boats
"Four to a boat!" Hagrid called. "Mind yer step—no pushin'!"
Void stepped into a craft that rocked faintly on the dark water. Three others followed:
Daphne Greengrass, calm and precise, blue eyes assessing.
Tracey Davis, cheerful, nervous energy bubbling into chatter.
Blaise Zabini, silent and sharp-eyed, folding into his seat like the boat had been waiting.
The wood creaked; water lapped. The fleet pushed off as one, gliding across the mirror-black lake.
Introductions
"Funny meeting again—Daphne and I shared a cabin on the train," Tracey said, then grinned at the boys. "We ought to know who we're sharing boats with, too."
"Daphne Greengrass," Daphne said—clipped, polite.
"Tracey Davis," Tracey added. "Half-blood. Mum's Muggleborn, Dad's wizard."
"Blaise Zabini," Blaise said smoothly. "That should be enough."
They looked to Void.
"Void L. Emrys," he said, inclining his head. "My father studied in the East—Mahoutokoro. My mother was a Muggleborn witch of Hogwarts."
Tracey blinked, impressed. Daphne tilted her head, thoughtful. Blaise raised a brow, intrigued.
Shaking the Old Thinking
Blaise smirked. "Still—blood tells, in the end."
"Our families always said so," Daphne admitted. "Some people just aren't meant to lead."
Void's gaze stayed level. "That is what a Muggle tyrant preached—purity of blood, destined rulers. He led his people to rubble."
Tracey swallowed. "You… know about him?"
"I know enough to see patterns," Void said. "Wizards aren't immune to the same blindness. Grindelwald had vision—twisted, yes, but larger than himself. Voldemort—" he said the name without hesitation, watching them flinch—"was a shadow pretending to be a storm. His followers never noticed the cracks. His name wasn't even his own."
Silence settled. Water whispered against the hull.
First Sight of Hogwarts
Gasps rippled as the castle came into view—towers spearing the night, windows blazing like captured starlight. The lake carried the reflection, trembling and perfect.
Tracey clutched Daphne's arm; Blaise hid awe behind a cool mask. Void watched, storm-bright eyes glinting, the wards singing faintly in his blood.
Yue sat at the prow, tail curling, crimson eyes fixed on the glowing fortress as though judging what lay within.
They glided into the underground dock, torches guttering against wet stone. Hagrid's lantern bobbed ahead. "Mind yer heads—up you go!"
The Underground Dock
They clambered out onto slick steps, robes brushing damp rock. The air smelled of earth and river water. Up a steep stair, a heavy wooden door loomed.
With a creak, it opened onto the vast Entrance Hall, torches flaring, footsteps echoing.
McGonagall's Welcome
Professor McGonagall waited, robes sharply pressed, tartan trim catching the light. Her eyes swept the group—and, for a heartbeat, lingered on Void.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said crisply. "In a few moments you will enter the Great Hall to be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting Ceremony is of the utmost importance—it is here you will find your companions, your dormitory, and your family within the castle. Your triumphs will earn your House points, and your rule-breaking will lose them. The House with the most points at year's end will be awarded the House Cup."
A murmur passed through the first-years.
"Wait here while I make the final arrangements," she finished, heels clicking away.
The Antechamber & the Ghosts
They were herded into a smaller stone chamber. Torches sputtered; shadows clung—until spectral figures glided through the walls.
"The ghosts!" Tracey whispered, clutching Daphne's sleeve.
The Fat Friar beamed. "New students! How lovely—welcome, welcome!"
The Bloody Baron hovered, silver bloodstains gleaming. Several students shrank back.
Nearly Headless Nick tipped his head; the hinge gave with a grotesque wobble. "Nearly Headless," he announced grandly. "Hogwarts legend, if I may say so."
Void inclined his head to each, unruffled. "Courtesy costs little," he murmured, "but it earns what fear cannot."
Draco's Second Offer
Draco Malfoy stepped forward, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. His grey eyes fixed on Harry.
"You'll soon learn, Potter," Draco drawled, "that some wizarding families are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He extended his hand again.
Ron flushed. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are, thanks," Harry said, refusing.
Whispers rustled. Draco's face tightened.
Void's voice cut softly—polite, edged: "In most societies, refusing a hand is poor etiquette. So too is presuming to offer it as a leash."
Silence pricked. Draco withdrew, pale. Harry glanced at Void, then back at Draco, steady in his choice.
Entering the Great Hall
Professor McGonagall returned. "Form a line."
The heavy doors opened, and the Great Hall revealed itself:
Candles floated high above, flames steady in midair.
The ceiling mirrored the night sky, vast and glittering. Hermione's eager whisper carried: "It's enchanted to look like the sky outside—Hogwarts, A History."
Four long tables stretched out, filled with hundreds of students, voices hushed.
At the High Table, the staff watched. Dumbledore sat at the center—eyes twinkling, hands folded—his gaze flicking across the line of first-years.
Void's eyes rose, storm-dark and steady, taking in the wards woven through stone, the ancient enchantments humming in the air. Yue slinked at his heel, fur bristling faintly as though sensing the same gravity.
The Sorting was about to begin.