There was a timid knock at the door, and in shuffled a chubby kid looking utterly lost. He introduced himself as Neville. Seemed he was looking for his toad.

We told him we hadn’t seen it and suggested he go to the back of the train and find Percy—he was a prefect, so let him deal with it. Neville nodded and scurried off, and we got back to chatting, telling each other about our wand cores and the mad stuff Ollivander had said. We were flipping through our textbooks, about to try another spell, when plans changed.

The door flew open again, and the same chubby kid was back, this time with a determined-looking girl with a wild head of hair. Her front teeth were a tad big, giving her a sort of innocent look that didn’t quite match her rather bossy demeanor.

“Have you seen Neville’s toad?” she demanded in a no-nonsense tone. “He’s lost it, and I’m helping him look.”

“Neville, you mean you didn’t make it to the prefects?” I asked instead of answering, and the poor kid blushed and mumbled something barely audible. But the girl interrupted him with her loud, commanding voice.

“Oh, you’re doing magic, are you? Let’s see it, then,” she said, eyeing our wands and open book on the table. She practically shoved Neville into the compartment, then sat down beside me and plopped him opposite us.

“I’ve tried a few spells myself, and they’ve all worked,” she began, all high and mighty, looking at us with a bit of a smirk. “And I’ve already read all the textbooks, cover to cover. I do hope that’s enough to be top of the class.”

“So, love, you’re wandering round the train to help Neville look for his toad, or are you just here to advertise yourself?” I asked, taking advantage of the first gap in her monologue.

“Oh, and you’re rude, I see,” she snapped, pursing her lips and giving me a sharp look. “And I’m not your ‘love’!”

“Well, you haven’t introduced yourself,” I retorted.

“Hermione Granger,” she said crisply, staring at us expectantly.

“Ron Weasley,” I replied, doing a little mock bow and grinning cheekily.

“Harry Potter,” mumbled Harry, who clearly wasn’t used to all this attention and intense conversation.

“You’re the Harry Potter?” she asked, examining him with renewed interest. “I know all about you, of course. I bought some extra books beyond the required reading, and your name’s mentioned in Modern Magical History, The Rise an—”

“Oi, slow down there, love,” I interrupted when I noticed Harry looking a bit overwhelmed. “Lot of ‘me, me, me’ going on here. You’re not the only one who’s ever picked up a book, you know.”

“For the last time, I’m not ‘love!’” she huffed, eyebrows furrowing angrily.

“And for the record, I’m the rude one, right?” I said, grinning even wider. Winding her up was kind of fun. She was all right, really—just a bit of a know-it-all.

“Right, well then,” she said, standing up in a huff. “Come on, Neville, we don’t need to waste time with these hooligans.”

“You’ll be back, love, trust me,” I called after her teasingly. “Good girls always come running back to the bad lads.”

She gave Neville a firm push, glanced back, gave a loud scoff, turned up her nose, and slammed the door behind her. Harry and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Serious sort, isn’t she?” said Harry, smiling. “Reminds me of our headmistress, Mrs. Smith. I hope we’re in different houses.”

We chatted a bit more about our new acquaintance, then got back to practicing spells. Afterward, we just ate sweets and chatted about nothing in particular.

All was well until, mid-conversation, the compartment door swung open, and there stood the so-called “prince charming” and his lackeys.

In reality, it was just some pale, posh kid with a snooty look on his face, flanked by two bulky boys who didn’t look overburdened by intellect.

He surveyed our compartment like he expected it to contain something special, then focused his attention on Harry.

“I heard Harry Potter’s in this compartment,” he drawled, demanding, as if we owed him something. “Is that true?”

“Yes, I’m Harry Potter,” Harry replied calmly. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem fazed—probably found Malfoy less intimidating than Granger.

“This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” the pale-faced kid introduced his mates carelessly, noticing Harry eyeing them. “And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” he added politely. “And this is…”

“Don’t bother,” the blond kid interrupted grandly, waving a hand. “Red hair, freckles, and hand-me-down robes. You must be a Weasley,” he sneered, with a smug look. “From a family with more kids than they can afford.”

Honestly, I was a bit gobsmacked. Didn’t expect him to have a go at me first for no reason—I hadn’t laughed at his name or anything. Stuck-up pure-blood prat.

“Looks like you’re skint too,” I shot back with a smirk. “Only enough money for one kid? Parents couldn’t handle any more?”

“How dare you?” Malfoy hissed, going red with anger, his fists clenching. Funny enough, he went red just as badly as I do.

“Well, you started it,” I replied coolly. “Waltzing in here like ‘Captain Obvious.’ Is that what pure-blood snobs do? Show up just to state what’s self-evident? Go on, mate, tell me something new. Say, that I’ve got a hole in my sock or a broom from the seventies. But if you’re going to make a face over my big family…then you’re an idiot, mate. I’ve got five brothers, three of them at Hogwarts. And you’re just one. Think those two blokes behind you can take on four of us?”

“A blood traitor, threatening the heir of an ancient and noble family?” Malfoy squinted dangerously.

“Oi, I’m only warning you for now,” I replied, cool as you like. “So you can save your wit for me if you’ve got something worth saying. And leave my family out of it if you don’t want my rough brothers to give you a proper walloping. And, don’t act like you’re so worried about me, eh, Draco?” I smirked. “You’ve got no sister, so far as we know, and doesn’t look like you’ll be getting one, so your posh blood won’t be muddied up marrying me. And why do you care about my family’s status, anyway?”

“Potter, I’m warning you,” Malfoy sneered, ignoring me, “if you keep the company of riffraff like that oaf of a gamekeeper or this penniless wretch”—he nodded in my direction—“you’ll end up just like your parents. And I suggest you take my offer before it’s too late.” He extended his hand with a pompous flourish.

‘What a prat,’ I thought. ‘Does he actually think anyone’s going to want to be friends after all that?’ But then again, he’s only eleven; bit slow on the uptake and not exactly subtle. Just prod him a bit, and he’d blow.

“Get lost, Malfoy,” Harry spat, jumping up, properly angry now. “I can manage without you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Malfoy sniffed, glancing over at his pals. “Not that I intended to stay in your miserable company, but I think I’ll linger a bit. Don’t you agree, Crabbe, Goyle?”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in unison, though neither had said a word since they arrived. Might as well be mute, the pair of them.

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“Look at this—loads of sweets lying about! Help yourselves, boys,” Malfoy said, reaching for a chocolate frog. But Harry lunged at him.

Honestly, I didn’t think he had it in him. They went at it—Harry trying to pin Malfoy down and grab him by the hair, while Malfoy shoved at him, going for his eyes.

Luckily, the two dolts didn’t catch on straightaway. I managed to take Goyle down with a quick jab to his solar plexus. Crabbe took a bit more work, but in the cramped compartment, he had no room to swing properly. He did end up accidentally elbowing Malfoy in the face as he tried to hit me, so that sorted that.

In the end, after a solid ten minutes, they finally grabbed their groggy leader and shuffled out of the compartment, groaning.

“Blimey… d’you reckon a couple of chocolate frogs were worth all that?” I asked Harry, eyeing his broken glasses and the cut on his cheek.

“Doubt it,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But I just couldn’t stand that pompous git anymore. He was already pestering me in the shop, and when he went on about my parents… I just lost it.”

“Fair enough. You fix your glasses, and I’ll grab some healing balm,” I said, rooting through my trunk. “With so many of us at home, Mum brews this stuff by the cauldron,” I explained, feeling around the bottom of my trunk for the first aid kit. Harry crawled under the table to retrieve our wands, scattered in the scuffle.

“Thank goodness, not broken,” he said with relief. “Yours is fine too, Ron.”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and the door swung open without a knock. Hermione stood there, taking in Harry’s bruised face and my rumpled look with a disdainful sniff.

“I told you, love, you’d be back,” I said with a wink.

“What exactly is going on here?” she demanded, eyeing the sweets scattered all over the floor. “I heard you two were causing a dreadful racket. Turns out you’re not only rude and rowdy, but you’re also brawlers. Absolutely brilliant, I must say.”

“What do you want, Hermione?” Harry asked, a bit testily as he rubbed his eyes, not too keen on fixing his glasses with her watching.

“Well, I only came to let you know that the whole train’s in an uproar. Everyone’s fussing about and running in the corridors like headless chickens,” she said, sniffing again in disapproval, as if such behavior was beneath her. “Anyway, you’d better hurry or you won’t have time to change. I just spoke to the conductor—he said we’re nearly there,” she added, her nose in the air as she finally turned to leave, clearly needing the last word.

“Bet she’s related to Malfoy,” Harry muttered, fiddling with his broken glasses.

We got changed into our school uniforms, robes on top. Harry swept the leftover sweets into his trunk, and we started putting on those ridiculous hats, making faces and cracking up at how daft we looked, wondering if we were actually supposed to wear them with our robes. But then we grew quiet, looking out at the darkening window. I could feel it, what Luna would call ‘the journey.’ We were nearly there—the train was slowing down, and soon it came to a stop.

A voice crackled through the loudspeaker, telling us to leave our luggage in the compartments. It’d be taken separately.

The platform was dark and chilly, with a crowd of first years spilling out, barely able to see. I shivered a bit, regretting taking off my jumper.

“First years! All first years, over here!” boomed the voice of a giant, with a massive lamp swinging above the crowd. “Right, you all here? Follow me, and mind yer step! First years, with me!” he called again, leading us into the darkness.

The path twisted, and suddenly everyone gasped. There, above the dark lake, the castle loomed, lights gleaming in its windows. Its quiet, solid strength felt like protection, a place of calm.

They herded us into rickety little boats, four to a boat. With us were a cute round-faced girl and a black boy.

The closer we got, the more I could feel the power of the castle. It felt almost like the kind of energy I shared with Mum, but stronger—like a man’s strength, protective. It felt like we were under its watch now. Very strange, but kind of comforting.

We drifted through a tunnel and landed at a dock, then trudged another fifteen minutes to the castle, following the glow of the gamekeeper’s lamp.

And at last, Hagrid gave three knocks on the castle’s huge, iron-bound doors.

I reckon all these boats, the bows, and the three knocks on the door must mean something. It’s like a magical ritual, where we bow our heads, asking for help and protection, and it’s granted to us.

McGonagall was way younger than I’d pictured her, and Hagrid was a lot taller. I thought he’d be a bit shorter. But they weren’t wrong about the strictness and prim nature of the Gryffindor head of house—no mucking about with her.

We were led into a small hall, given a lecture on the houses and the points system, then left alone. The first-years started chattering right away, guessing what the Sorting would be like. Almost everyone had read A History of Magic and knew that the Sorting was done by a hat, but they seemed to think we’d have to answer its questions, solve riddles, or show some bravery.

When the ghosts floated in, the girls squealed, and even the lads jumped in surprise. There were about forty of us, so it was already a bit cramped, and the ghosts just floated right through us and vanished through the opposite wall as if we were in their way. It felt awful, like I’d been chilled to the bone and had pins and needles all over.

Only two ghosts stayed to chat with the first-years. It almost turned into a stampede when everyone flinched back at once, huddling into a corner to stay as far as possible from the ghosts. Even Malfoy dropped his scowl at us and hid behind Goyle.

Thank Merlin, McGonagall returned. She lined us up in pairs and led us into the Great Hall. I had to drag Potter along—he was so nervous he could barely walk.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was something else. Really, everything in the castle just oozed magic. It wasn’t like having a bunch of enchanted objects lying about; the whole place—from the stones beneath our feet to the candles floating overhead—was enchanted. I wanted to just stand still and listen, hoping to understand something special, hear something meant only for those who knew how to listen. If only Luna were here… she’d definitely hear it.

Meanwhile, Granger was constantly muttering about where and when she’d read about the enchanted ceiling.

McGonagall brought out the Sorting Hat—it looked like a copy of the ones in our school supplies, only ancient, covered in patches. It opened what was meant to be a mouth and sang. Meanwhile, I kept wondering where I’d end up. Judging by the song, I figured they’d probably send me back home. I didn’t feel particularly brave or noble—definitely not Gryffindor. With my laziness and indifference, I had no place in Ravenclaw. Slytherin was out of the question, and I’d always imagined Hufflepuff as a close-knit community, where I definitely wouldn’t fit.

While I was thinking, the Sorting had already started.

Granger happily ran off to Gryffindor, followed by Neville and Harry. Then they called my name…

"Well," said a voice in my head, "you have a curious mind and thoughtfulness, but you lack perseverance—not Ravenclaw. Too honest and not nearly sly enough—not Slytherin. You have kindness, but you’re a bit detached—not a fit for Hufflepuff. But you do have a sense of justice and a desire to protect the weak."

"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted, and feeling a bit lost, I headed to the table, where my brothers’ red heads were visible, and plonked down next to an obviously pleased Harry. He said he’d been crossing his fingers for me. Well, looks like I’ve somehow made a friend without even noticing.

The rest of the Sorting and the headmaster’s speech were a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about the Hat’s words. It was amazing how it could judge me when I didn’t even know these things about myself.

Then, suddenly, the tables were laden with food. Mountains of it, on golden platters. Even the plates and goblets looked gold. Seamus’s mashed potatoes looked ridiculous on such a posh plate.

I paid my respects to the chops and roast potatoes while glancing around the Hall, as Harry rubbed his forehead and questioned Percy about something, and Granger latched onto a ghost.

I joined in the conversation with Seamus, Dean, and Neville. They talked about themselves, so I put in a word or two as well. Hearing how Neville’s magic had first appeared was wild. The pranks from the twins at home seemed like gentle family jests by comparison.

I wanted to have a look at the professors, but Harry and the others kept pulling my attention away. And who was there to look at, anyway? Just people. Well, aside from Flitwick, who looked quite odd.

The school song was something else. A complete mess, but Dumbledore and our two jokers seemed to love it—they held on to the last word longer than anyone else.

Percy was the perfect image of a prefect. Over the last year, we’d grown a bit distant. He’d grown up a lot, had new friends, and was eyeing up girls. What did he need with a younger brother now?

Peeves, who greeted us on the way to the tower, looked just as vile as his behavior. No one could get rid of the menace, and he knew it, which he made full use of. But Percy threatened him with the Bloody Baron, and Peeves quickly bolted, shouting crude insults as he went.

The entrance to the common room was behind a life-sized portrait of a plump lady in a frilly pink dress.

“Caput Draconis,” Percy said, and the portrait swung aside, revealing a round hole.

We filed in, with Neville needing a bit of help—he tripped over the threshold and almost landed flat.

Didn’t get a good look at the common room. Lots of red and plenty of furniture. Bit too small for such a lively house, if you ask me.

They hustled us off to bed right away. We climbed a spiral staircase to the top, where the dormitory was—a round room with five old-fashioned four-poster beds draped in velvet curtains.

I only had enough energy left for a quick shower, but even that seemed a step too far for the rest of the lads. When I got back, they were already out cold.

I scribbled a quick note to Luna, promising to write again in the morning. Stuffed an apple and a leftover cutlet from dinner into Scabbers’s cage. I wasn’t planning to let that traitor out or sleep with him around. Even Percy kept his rat in a cage. Then, finally, I collapsed into bed.