As evening began to descend, the Hogwarts Express came to a gradual halt, steam hissing and billowing from beneath its wheels as it arrived at Hogsmeade Station. The old-fashioned station, illuminated by the warm glow of wrought-iron lanterns, exuded a rustic charm. Its wooden platform stretched out beneath a canopy of ivy-covered beams, casting dappled shadows in the fading daylight. The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the earthy scent of the surrounding pine trees and the distant murmur of the Black Lake’s waters. The station itself felt like a gateway to a different era, untouched by the bustle of the Muggle world.
Nicholas and Hermione stepped onto the platform together, a sense of anticipation thrumming between them as they joined the other students who had begun to disembark from the train. The older students moved with an air of familiarity, greeting one another with enthusiastic waves and smiles, while the first-years—Nicholas and Hermione among them—gazed around in awe, trying to take in every detail of their new surroundings.
"I met him on the train, you know. The Harry Potter," she said, pointing discreetly at a boy with jet-black hair ahead of them. "His glasses were broken, so I tried my hand at a little spellwork and managed to fix them. 'Reparo,' I said, and it worked quite well!"
Nicholas arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “You performed 'Reparo'? Impressive for someone who hasn’t even started their formal training.” There was genuine admiration in his voice, and he found himself looking at Hermione with a newfound respect.
Hermione beamed at his praise, though she quickly composed herself, trying to maintain an air of modesty. “Well, I’ve read extensively about basic spells in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. Once you understand the precise incantation and the wand movement, it all falls into place.” She spoke with a certain earnestness, her tone full of pride in her diligent study. Then, she glanced at Nicholas, a spark of curiosity lighting her eyes. “What about you, Nicholas? Have you had any practice with spells before coming here?”
Nicholas offered her a small, confident smile, his hand slipping into the pocket of his finely tailored robes to retrieve his wand. The wand, a dark, polished wood with a subtle sheen, seemed almost to hum with latent power as he held it. “Indeed, Hermione, my family made sure I had a bit of a head start in spellcasting,” he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much he should reveal, before deciding that a small demonstration would do no harm.
With a graceful flick of his wand, Nicholas pointed at a small, silver coin he had fished from his pocket earlier. He muttered a clear incantation under his breath—“Mutatio Formae!”—and the coin shimmered briefly, its silver surface rippling like water before solidifying into a small wooden matchbox. He caught the transformed object as it fell into his palm, displaying it to Hermione with a satisfied flourish.
Hermione’s eyes widened with awe. “That’s Transfiguration! And quite advanced for a first-year, too,” she remarked, leaning in to inspect the matchbox, which still retained the faint silver luster of the coin it had once been. “I read that even N.E.W.T. students can struggle with maintaining the integrity of the transformation. How did you manage to achieve that?”
Nicholas’s smile widened a fraction as he pocketed his wand, pleased by her reaction. “I’ve had the benefit of an excellent tutor. Ms. Cressida Blume—one of the finest witches I’ve ever encountered. She is known for her expertise in both Charms and Transfiguration. Her methods are exacting, and she doesn’t tolerate even the slightest misstep,” he said, his tone carrying a mixture of respect and exasperation. His thoughts drifted to Cressida, her stern expression, and the many hours spent perfecting his wand movements under her watchful eye.
“She sounds formidable,” Hermione remarked, a note of admiration creeping into her voice. “I’ve read about tutors like that, those who come from prestigious families and train young witches and wizards before they attend formal schooling. It’s no wonder you’re so advanced. Not many of us have that kind of opportunity.”
Nicholas’s expression softened slightly, recognizing the unspoken sentiment in her words. “Ms. Blume is indeed formidable. In fact, you remind me of her in some ways—her insatiable thirst for knowledge, her relentless pursuit of perfection,” he mused, glancing at Hermione thoughtfully. “She was always encouraging me to look beyond the simple mechanics of a spell and to understand the underlying principles—why the words matter, why the wand must move just so.”
Hermione seemed taken aback by the comparison, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Really? I suppose that’s a compliment, then,” she said, a bit flustered but clearly pleased. “I’ve always believed that understanding why something works is just as important as knowing how to do it. It’s what makes magic feel real—like a kind of science, but with a touch of wonder.”
Nicholas nodded, clearly understanding her sentiment. “Yes, exactly. There’s a kind of elegance to it, isn’t there? A balance between discipline and creativity, precision and intuition. Ms. Blume used to say that true mastery of magic requires an artist’s touch as much as a scholar’s mind.”
Hermione’s smile grew, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I couldn’t agree more. Oh, I can’t wait to see the Hogwarts library! All those centuries of magical knowledge, just waiting to be explored...”
Nicholas couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her excitement. “Something tells me you’ll be spending quite a lot of time there, Hermione.”
A shadow fell over the group of first-years as a large figure approached, casting an imposing silhouette against the fading evening light. The man was massive—almost twice the height of a regular person and at least five times as wide. His bushy black hair and thick beard covered much of his face, leaving only a pair of twinkling eyes visible beneath the wild strands. Nicholas recognized him immediately. He was the same gentle giant who had accompanied Harry Potter back in Ollivanders, his booming voice still fresh in Nicholas’s memory.
“Firs’-years, follow me to the boats!” the man called out, his voice carrying over the chatter of the excited students. His tone was kind, yet there was an unmissable authority in it that made everyone quickly fall silent and line up behind him. Nicholas and Hermione joined the others, walking in a single-file line as they followed the giant man down a sloping path. Nicholas stole a glance at the older students heading in a different direction, disappearing into the shadows as they made their way toward the castle by a separate route.
The path soon led them to the edge of the vast, dark lake that shimmered faintly under the twilight sky. Nicholas’s breath caught for a moment as he saw the sight before him: the glassy water stretched out like an enormous mirror, reflecting the first pinpricks of stars. Along the shore, more than a dozen small wooden boats were anchored at a humble dock, each with a lantern flickering softly at the prow.
“Pair up in fours, and climb into the boats, children!” the giant bellowed, his voice echoing off the nearby hills. He gestured to the little fleet, urging the students forward.
Nicholas and Hermione were among the first to approach, moving quickly to claim one of the boats before the others filled up. Nicholas climbed in first, settling himself at the front beside the lantern, its golden glow casting a warm light across his features. Hermione took a seat in the middle, her hands gripping the edge of the boat with nervous excitement. As they waited, the rest of the children began to group up and board the other boats, their movements a flurry of eager whispers and hurried steps.
As Nicholas scanned the crowd, he caught sight of his friends. Draco Malfoy lingered near the edge of the dock, his expression conflicted. There was something uncharacteristically uncertain in the way Draco looked at him, a mix of guilt and hesitation clouding his usually haughty demeanor. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed as if Draco might say something. But whatever words were on his mind remained unspoken, hanging in the cool evening air between them. Nicholas managed a small, forgiving smile, his earlier anger having cooled to a mere simmer. He knew there were things left unsaid—things that would need to be addressed once they were all together again.
Nearby, Hannah Abbott took a tentative step toward Nicholas's boat, her expression hopeful. She seemed to want to join him, but before she could reach the boat, a sudden tug at the line caused it to drift slightly away from the dock. In the brief moment of distraction, two boys hurried forward and clambered into the remaining seats in the boat with Nicholas and Hermione.
Pansy Parkinson reached out and pulled Hannah into another boat, her grip surprisingly firm. The two of them settled in with Blaise Zabini, while Draco ended up with Crabbe and Goyle, their hulking forms nearly taking up an entire boat on their own.
One of the boys who had joined Nicholas and Hermione was a red-haired lad with a face dotted generously with freckles. He offered a nervous, lopsided grin as he settled into his seat, his voice carrying a country drawl that seemed out of place amid the refined mannerisms of most wizarding families. “Hope you don’t mind us joinin’ you two,” he said, casting glances between Nicholas and Hermione as if gauging their reaction.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow at the boy's informal tone, but his upbringing quickly guided him to respond with grace. He inclined his head slightly and offered a polite nod. “Not at all,” he replied smoothly, though a hint of curiosity lingered in his gaze as he sized up their new companions. There was something undeniably refreshing about the boy’s unpretentious nature, a stark contrast to the polished airs of his usual company.
The red-haired boy’s eyes flicked to Hermione, and his grin widened. “Nice to meet you again, Granger,” he remarked, though there was a hint of teasing in his tone.
Hermione, ever the composed student, folded her arms and responded with a hint of dryness. “Likewise, Weasley,” she said, though a small smile played on her lips. The familiarity between them suggested that their paths had crossed before, though not necessarily on the warmest of terms.
Nicholas observed their exchange with interest, noting the dynamic between the two. Then his gaze shifted to the redhead’s companion—a boy with jet-black hair, round glasses perched on his nose, and a lightning-shaped scar faintly visible beneath his fringe. Recognition flickered in Nicholas’s mind. He had seen this boy before, just as he had seen the giant leading them earlier.
“Hello, I’m Nicholas Gryff,” Nicholas introduced himself, extending a hand toward the boy with an easy smile.
The boy reached out and clasped Nicholas’s hand, offering a polite smile in return. “I’m Harry—Harry Potter,” he replied, a slight hint of curiosity in his tone as he studied Nicholas.
Nicholas’s smile widened, and he tilted his head slightly, his expression warm. “It seems this is our second meeting, Harry. It’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.” He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You might remember our encounter at Ollivanders?”
Harry’s eyes lit up with recognition, and he nodded eagerly. A touch of warmth colored his voice as he spoke. “Yes, I remember! It’s good to see you again, Nicholas. You seemed... different, back then—very proper, with those two men in suits trailing behind you. It looked very... well, official.”
Nicholas chuckled softly at the memory, the corners of his mouth curling with amusement. “Ah, yes. The men in suits certainly do tend to leave an impression, don’t they?”
Before Nicholas could elaborate, the red-haired boy leaned forward eagerly, his enthusiasm unrestrained. “Two men in suits? Are they from the Ministry? That’s wicked!” His tone held an excited edge as he leaned past Hermione and Harry to extend his hand towards Nicholas. “I almost forgot to introduce myself. I’m Ron Weasley,” he added, his grin widening.
Despite the boy’s somewhat rough-hewn manner, there was a sincerity to his excitement that Nicholas couldn’t help but appreciate. He took Ron’s hand, shaking it with a gentle yet firm grip. “A pleasure to meet you, Ron. And yes, those men were from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. They were assisting me and my mother with... a few matters of importance.”
Ron’s eyes went wide at the mention of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, and he looked at Nicholas as if seeing him in a whole new light. “Nicholas Gryff?” Ron repeated, his voice almost reverent. His gaze flicked between Harry and Nicholas, as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck. “Blimey! Is this my lucky day or what? Meeting both of you on the same day?”
His words sparked a new curiosity in Harry and Hermione, who turned their attention back to Nicholas with a questioning look. Nicholas noticed the change in their expressions, a dawning realization as they absorbed Ron’s remark. Hermione’s eyes narrowed with a mixture of surprise and mild indignation, her lips pressing together as if she were holding back a scolding. Harry, meanwhile, appeared more curious than anything, his head tilted slightly as if trying to piece together a puzzle.
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Seeing their reaction, Ron continued, unable to contain his excitement. “You don’t understand, do you? He’s a Gryff! I didn’t realize it at first, what with his blonde hair and all, but he’s from the Gryff family! They’re practically royalty in the wizarding world—descendants of Godric Gryffindor himself!” Ron’s voice rose with enthusiasm, oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere.
Nicholas couldn’t help but wince inwardly at Ron’s outburst, though he maintained a composed expression. He noticed the amazement that now filled Harry and Hermione’s eyes as they stared at him, the weight of his family name settling into the conversation like a tangible presence.
Hermione’s indignant expression softened into one of accusation, her brows furrowing as she fixed Nicholas with a look of reproach. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms as if she were scolding him for some grievous omission.
Nicholas offered her a helpless, apologetic smile, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It didn’t seem particularly relevant at the time, Hermione,” he said lightly, though he knew well enough that his family name often carried expectations—and assumptions. “After all, I’d much rather be known for my own actions than for the deeds of a long-dead ancestor.”
Hermione’s expression softened, though a hint of irritation lingered on her face, as if she hadn’t yet forgiven Nicholas for withholding such a significant part of his background. Her brow furrowed slightly, but there was a glint of understanding in her eyes—perhaps a realization that, like her, Nicholas had his reasons for keeping certain things private. Harry, on the other hand, seemed more intrigued than upset by the revelation. He studied Nicholas with a newfound respect, his head tilting slightly as if reassessing the boy before him, now aware that he was in the presence of a descendant of Godric Gryffindor himself. He gave a small nod, acknowledging this new depth to their acquaintance.
Nicholas released a long, discreet sigh, feeling the weight of the situation lift slightly. He hadn’t wanted his family’s legacy to be revealed so soon. The prestige of being a Gryff carried expectations—ones that often overshadowed genuine first impressions. Nicholas knew well that a family name like his could make it difficult to know whether people liked him for who he was or merely for the status attached to his lineage.
It wasn’t that he found his friendship with Draco and the others completely insincere. He knew they had bonded in their own way, sharing conversations and laughter that felt real. But he couldn’t help but wonder: would Draco, Pansy, and Blaise have accepted him so readily if he had been just another nameless wizard, without the weighty heritage of the Gryff name? The answer wasn’t particularly comforting.
Nicholas forced himself to push those thoughts aside. He knew he should appreciate what his family’s name had brought him—connections, respect, and, perhaps, friends who might have taken longer to come around otherwise. Regardless of the initial motivations, they were his friends now, and he had been too harsh on them earlier in the train. He resolved to find an opportunity to mend things and speak with them, to ensure that their bond remained intact despite any misunderstandings.
As his thoughts quieted, Nicholas realized that he had drifted away from the conversation between Hermione, Harry, and Ron. Their voices mingled in a low, animated discussion, with Hermione explaining some detail from one of the many books she had devoured before their arrival. But Nicholas found himself disinterested in joining them just yet. Instead, his attention turned to the magnificent sight that loomed ahead.
Hogwarts Castle rose like a sentinel in the twilight, its silhouette etched against the sky. Towering spires reached towards the darkening heavens, illuminated by the moon above. The castle’s ancient stone walls, worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain, gleamed in the soft, flickering light of torches that lined the battlements.
The castle sat perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the vast lake, its reflection shimmering like a mirage on the still water’s surface. Mist curled along the edges of the lake, adding an air of mystery to the scene, as if Hogwarts was a place out of time, where magic and history intertwined seamlessly.
The boat lurched gently as it bumped against a wooden dock, signaling their arrival at Hogwarts. Nicholas glanced around and found that they had arrived at a hidden harbor tucked beneath the castle, the dimly lit cavern echoing with the soft lapping of water against the stone walls. The atmosphere was thick with the anticipation of what lay beyond these shadowy depths.
Nicholas disembarked first, stepping carefully onto the damp wooden planks. The two boys, Harry and Ron, followed suit, their feet landing with soft thuds on the dock. Turning back, Nicholas extended a hand to Hermione, who accepted it gratefully. She balanced herself as she stepped out of the boat, her fingers gripping his arm to steady herself and ensure she wouldn't stumble into the dark waters below.
Around them, other boats were arriving in quick succession, carrying the rest of the first-years who clambered onto the dock with eager yet uncertain steps. The air was filled with whispers and shuffling feet as the students took in their mysterious surroundings, eyes widening at the thought that they were now beneath the very castle they had admired from across the lake.
The towering figure of the large man waved a lantern to gather their attention. He spoke in a booming yet warm voice that echoed off the stone walls, “Alright, let’s move along, now. I reckon all of you can’t wait to fill your bellies with a good meal.” His friendly smile was half-hidden behind his thick, bushy beard as he gestured for them to form a line.
Despite his instructions, the line was more of a loosely organized cluster, with excited whispers rippling through the group. The large man led them toward the base of a grand stone staircase that spiraled upwards into shadows, disappearing into the heights above. He pointed up the steps, his lantern casting long shadows against the ancient stones. “Up those stairs, all of you! I’ll be right behind, don’t you worry. Mind your step now.”
With that, he left the children to ascend the stairs themselves. The clamor of footsteps filled the air as they began to climb, the excitement palpable. Nicholas took the steps two at a time, eager to see what awaited them above, while Hermione followed closely, glancing around with wide, inquisitive eyes.
At the top of the staircase, they emerged into a wide stone corridor lined with flickering torches. The atmosphere shifted as they stepped out of the shadows and into the warm, golden light. There, standing at the center of the corridor, was a figure of sharp authority and poise.
She was tall and slender, with a severe expression that gave no hint of warmth. Her robes were deep emerald green, pristine and elegantly draped, reflecting the formality of her position. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun beneath a pointed hat, adding an extra inch to her already imposing height. Every line of her face seemed etched with discipline, but her eyes—sharp as a hawk’s—held a glimmer of keen intelligence and a hidden depth of kindness.
Her gaze swept over the gathered first-years, assessing each of them with a critical eye. The silence that fell was immediate and absolute, as if the mere presence of this formidable witch commanded respect. She stood perfectly still, her posture regal, hands folded neatly before her as she waited for the last of the students to reach the top of the stairs. Her very presence seemed to demand order, and the excited murmurings of the children quickly died away under her watchful eye.
When she finally spoke, her voice was firm and clear, carrying an almost musical cadence that reverberated through the corridor. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, her tone leaving no room for idle chatter. "In a few moments, you will step through these doors to join your fellow students in the Great Hall. But before you may take your place at the tables, you must each be sorted into one of the four houses of this school: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
Her words seemed to echo with the weight of tradition, the significance of the moment sinking into the children like a chill in the air. Nicholas stood a little straighter, his curiosity piqued as he exchanged a glance with Hermione, who appeared equally intrigued.
She continued, her gaze sweeping across the room once more. "During your time here, your house will serve as your family within these walls. Your accomplishments will earn your house points, and your misdeeds will result in the loss of those points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points shall be awarded the House Cup, a great honor indeed. I trust you will all conduct yourselves in a manner that will bring pride to your house."
While the stern witch spoke, Nicholas's attention was momentarily diverted by a small movement near the hem of her robes. There, nestled against the shadowy stone floor, was a brownish toad that Nicholas recognized at once. He leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, “I think that’s Trevor.”
Hermione's brow furrowed in puzzlement, and then her eyes lit up with recognition. The two exchanged a brief, amused look, stifling their laughter. But before Hermione could reply, Neville Longbottom, who had been glancing around anxiously, spotted the toad as well. He hurried forward with an outburst of relief, his voice cutting through the quiet.
“Trevor!” Neville exclaimed, his round face flushed with embarrassment as he lunged for his wayward pet. He scooped the toad into his hands, cradling it against his chest like a lost treasure. A ripple of laughter spread through the gathered students, and Nicholas couldn't help but smile at the sight, though he kept his amusement subtle.
Her gaze snapped to Neville, her expression remaining impassive, but there was a faint tightening at the corner of her mouth, a subtle sign of her disapproval. The laughter quickly died down, and Neville’s cheeks burned a deeper shade of red as he stammered, “Sorry, Professor,” while retreating back to his place in the line, looking thoroughly mortified.
Without missing a beat, she continued, her tone as steady as before, though a hint of impatience crept in. “Now, you will wait here quietly, children. The Sorting Ceremony will commence momentarily.” Her words left no room for argument, and with a swish of her robes, she turned and strode down the corridor, leaving the first-years behind.
As Professor McGonagall's footsteps receded into the depths of the castle, a hushed anticipation settled over the gathered first-years. They shifted restlessly on their feet, the air thick with a blend of excitement and nerves. Nicholas felt the weight of the ancient stone walls around him, each echo and shadow seeming to whisper of the centuries of magic that had come before them. He glanced around the corridor, his gaze finally landing on a familiar cluster of faces off to the side, slightly apart from the rest of the group.
Draco Malfoy stood at the center, flanked by Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Hannah Abbott. They were speaking in low tones, but their expressions were guarded, as though their earlier disagreement with Nicholas still lingered in the air between them. Seeing them huddled together, Nicholas made up his mind. He turned to Hermione, offering her a reassuring nod. “Wait for me here, Hermione. I won’t be long.”
She looked at him curiously, but she gave a small nod, understanding that he had matters to resolve. With a quiet intake of breath, Nicholas made his way over to Draco and the others, weaving through the scattered students until he stood before them. The tension among the group was palpable as he approached, and the quiet murmur of their conversation abruptly ceased.
Draco was the first to acknowledge his presence, his pale brows knitting together in a mixture of apprehension and pride. "Nicholas," he said coolly, though there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice. Blaise and Pansy exchanged wary glances, while Hannah shifted her weight uneasily, her hands clasped before her.
Nicholas cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the moment press down on his shoulders. “I wanted to speak with you all,” he began, his tone steady but softer than usual. He let his gaze travel over each of their faces, lingering on Draco’s guarded expression. “About earlier. On the train.”
Pansy crossed her arms, looking away as if trying to maintain an air of aloofness, but her expression softened when she glanced back at him. Blaise leaned against the stone wall, his usual cool demeanor giving way to a faint crease of curiosity in his forehead. Draco, however, kept his eyes trained on Nicholas, his chin slightly raised, as if he were unsure whether to accept what might come next.
Nicholas took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I realize I may have been... harsh with my words,” he admitted, his voice quieting as he chose each word with care. “I was angry, and I let my emotions get the better of me. It was not my intention to speak down to you like that. You’re my friends—have been for as long as I can remember—and I don't want this to change that.”
Draco’s mouth tightened, and for a moment, Nicholas feared that his apology might be met with cold silence. But then, to his surprise, the Slytherin boy exhaled through his nose, his expression softening by a fraction. “Well, you certainly didn’t hold back, did you?” he muttered, though there was a hint of grudging amusement in his tone, a glimmer of the boy Nicholas had known for years.
Pansy uncrossed her arms, her gaze flicking between Nicholas and Draco. “You have a way of making a point, Nicholas,” she remarked, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. “We... we weren’t being fair either. It’s just—well, it’s too different, isn’t it? Having someone like her—” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Hermione. “I remember what you told me… This is just something too unexpected.”
Blaise, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his deep voice carrying a note of reluctant acceptance. “It’s different, but... you made us think. Maybe we were out of line. It’s just, our world, it’s always been... separate.” His words trailed off, but his meaning lingered in the air between them, unspoken yet understood.
Nicholas gave a small, tentative smile, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. “I know. I’ve told Pansy a similar thing, but I will repeat it again. Hermione is a friend of mine, and I don’t expect you guys to befriend her or integrate her into our circle, the least I ask for is to respect a friend of mine in my presence even if her lineage is something you would normally look down upon.” It was a concession he could give them, he doesn’t care if they bully other kids or anyone else, but at least they should refrain from doing so to people he treats as friends.
For a long moment, none of them spoke, the unspoken emotions hanging between them like a thread that might snap or hold, depending on the next word. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Draco took a step forward, extending his hand toward Nicholas. “We’re still friends, then?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost tentative, as if the question carried more weight than he wanted to admit.
Nicholas grasped Draco’s hand firmly, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “Always,” he replied, feeling the tension between them begin to dissolve. Pansy and Blaise exchanged a look, then nodded as well, a small but sincere gesture that spoke of their willingness to put the incident behind them. Hannah offered Nicholas a shy smile, her earlier unease replaced with a sense of relief. While Crabbe and Goyle were vastly ignorant of the reconciliation occuring.
It wasn’t a perfect reconciliation—Nicholas could sense that there were still things left unsaid, lingering beneath the surface. But it was a start, a step toward mending the rift that had threatened their friendship. As they released hands, Nicholas couldn’t help but sport a smile.