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Chapter Text

Charlie Weasley woke in complete darkness, momentarily disorientated, before remembering that his older brother Bill had taken to covering the windows as soon as he had returned home from Hogwarts for the summer holidays. Bill claimed, in a tone of lofty authority, that too much sunlight disrupted his circadian rhythm, though Charlie suspected his brother simply preferred the indulgence of sleeping long past dawn. Whatever the reason, the heavy curtains meant Charlie never quite knew whether it was morning, afternoon, or still the middle of the night when he opened his eyes. 

He rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock on his bedside table, its hands pointing steadily at half past six. Across the room, Bill lay sprawled across his bed, snoring softly, completely oblivious to the hour. Charlie moved quietly, padding his way across the wooden floorboards towards the window, pulling back the edge of the blackout curtains, just enough to peer through a narrow gap. The sky outside was streaked with pale pink and soft orange, the first light of dawn spreading itself over Ottery St. Catchpole, painting the world in gentle colour. 

He dressed without hurry, pulling on a pair of jeans and tugging a hand-knitted jumper over his head, the ‘C’ that was knitted into it was slightly lopsided. Sitting back down on his bed, he reached for his socks, half-listening to the steady rhythm of Bill’s breathing as he bent to pull them on. His eyes drifted to the shelf above his bed.

There, between a stack of old spell books and a pile of trading cards, sat his most treasured possession: a small wooden dragon model. The wings were a little chipped, the paint faded from years of handling, but it was still magnificent to Charlie. He picked it up carefully, his thumb running over the curved horns. He had begged for it from a second-hand toy stall in Diagon Alley the summer before, and he’d carried it everywhere since.

The peace of the morning was shattered abruptly as the bedroom door burst open. Molly Weasley stood in the doorway, her figure outlined by the brighter light from the hallway, hands planted firmly on her hips. 

“Up, both of you!” she declared, her voice brisk as her eyes darted from one bed to the other. “Bill, come on now.” 

A muffled groan drifted from beneath Bill’s heap of blankets. “Mum, it’s barely light out,” he muttered sleepily, his face still hidden from view. “Just five more minutes.” 

Molly drew herself up at that, her expression sharpening in a way that suggested those five minutes would never be granted. “Five more minutes?” she repeated. Charlie, recognising the danger signs at once, hastily tucked on his second sock and stuffed his feet into his slippers before his mother’s gaze shifted in his direction. 

He ducked out of the way and leaped out of the room and down the stairs, where the smell of cooking bacon met  him at the kitchen door. 

Charlie slid into his seat, barely able to eat. His stomach was fluttering with nerves considerably more than it had been last night. He was going to be joining Bill at Hogwarts. Finally. 

“Charlie, dear, eat your sandwich.” Molly said, pressing a warm bacon sandwich into his hand. She darted from stove to table, ferrying plates piled high with sausages and eggs. 

“Bill, fetch your trunk and leave it by the door! Percy, if you drop porridge on that book one more time—oh, and Ron, not in your chair, darling, please—and Fred, George,  put that down this moment!” 

The identical six-year-olds froze, each with a fistful of doxy droppings they’d discovered in the pantry, clearly intending to lob them at Percy. Caught under their mother’s gaze, they dropped the handfuls into the bin with identical guilty grins. 

Ron, sat in a booster cushion, smearing butter across more of his face, while Ginny, sat in her highchair banging her spoon rhythmically against the table, delighted at the racket she was making. 

Arthur finally lowered his newspaper. “Molly, dear,” he said mildly, folding up today’s edition of The Daily Prophet, “perhaps I should take the twins out to the garden, before they dismantle the kitchen entirely?” 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Molly replied, sweeping past with Ginny balanced on one hip and her wand stirring the porridge on the stove at the same time. “Everyone stays where I can see them until we’re ready to leave. Bill—your trunk, please, now. Charlie, have you double-checked you’ve got everything, dear? And where on earth are those cages?” 

“In the sitting room,” Arthur said, rising at last. “I’ll fetch them.” 

Charlie wolfed down the rest of his sandwich, and looked behind him. There was a thump and a scrape sounded on the stairs as Bill appeared, dragging not one, but two trunks behind him, his own stacked precariously atop Charlie’s. He grinned at his younger brother, a little flushed from the effort. “You owe me for that,” he said cheerfully, dropping both by the fireplace with a loud clunk. 

Molly bustled in from the scullery just as Bill sat the trunks down. “Thank you, Bill,” she said briskly. She flicked her wand, and two brown-paper-wrapped parcels forced themselves into the hands of Bill and Charlie. 

“Sandwiches, for the journey,” she said. “Now, mind you keep a hold of them this time, Bill. I won’t have you turning up to school hungry.” 

Arthur entered just behind her, balancing a battered cage with a large, elderly toad glaring out from behind the rusty bars. He lowered it carefully onto the hearth beside Charlie’s trunk. “Albert’s ready,” he announced with satisfaction. 

Molly nodded, before turning her attention to Charlie, her expression softening for just a moment as she smoothed his hair with her free hand. “Come on then, Charlie,” she said gently. “Time to go.”

Molly, Bill and Charlie made it to platform nine and three-quarters with 15 minutes to spare. It would have been absolute chaos if they had brought the twins, Percy, Ron and Ginny along with them, so Arthur had volunteered himself to stay at home. 

Steam billowed in thick clouds from the scarlet engine at the far end, curling around the clusters of witches and wizards gathered to see their children off. Owls hooted irritably from their cages and cats yowled from inside wicker baskets. 

“Stay close, dear,” Molly urged, resting a hand briefly on Charlie’s shoulder as she guided both boys through the crowd of people. 

Bill suddenly waved, his face breaking in a grin. “Oh, there they are! Mum, I’m going to see Kirley and Myron. You’ll be alright, Charlie?” 

Charlie barely had any time to nod before Bill was already moving away from Charlie and Molly. Charlie stood rooted to the spot for a moment, Albert’s cage digging into his fingers. The crowd jostled and strayed around him, and Molly began to urge him onwards. 

“Go on,” Molly urged, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Best find yourself a seat before they’re all taken.” 

Charlie swallowed, and forced himself to give her a hug, before turning towards the train. The steps seemed far taller than they had a moment ago, but he heaved his trunk aboard, heart thudding as the noise of the platform dimmed behind him. 

The corridor was narrow, crowded with children leaning from compartment doors or shoving past each other. Most of the compartments he’d passed were already full. He hovered at each door, his throat tightening. 

He pushed on, Albert croaking grumpily in this cage. At last, halfway down the train, he spotted a compartment with only one boy inside. 

The boy sat by the window, his chin propped on his hand, staring out through the fogged glass at the steam and bustle of the platform beyond. His trunk was nestled below his seat, and a small brown owl dozed in a cage above his head. 

Charlie hesitated, the handle of Albert’s cage damp in his grip. He raised his knuckles and tapped lightly on the glass. 

“Er — mind if I sit here?” 

The boy turned, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, in which Charlie thought he was going to refuse, he gave the faintest nod. 

Charlie slid inside, tugging his trunk in after him and setting Albert’s cage down with a thud. He sat opposite, but looked around nervously. 

Neither Charlie nor the boy spoke as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station. Charlie leaned back in his seat, the image of his mother smoothing his hair lingering in his mind. He then took his dragon model out of his pocket, moving it around between his fingers. 

Chapter Text

The compartment rocked gently with the motion of the train, the rattle of the wheels carrying them further into the countryside. Charlie sat with Albert’s cage resting at his feet, the toad croaking now and then. Charlie couldn’t help but glance at the boy across from him.

The boy sat very still, his chin resting in one hand, eyes trained on the blurred view beyond the glass outside. His hair was a soft brown that fell neatly across his forehead, brushing close to his eyes whenever he shifted positions. Charlie had half-expected the boy to say something when he first came in, but not a word had passed between them yet, and Charlie was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. 

He fiddled with the little wooden dragon in his lap, running his thumb over the chipped curve of its wing. He could sit in silence, he told himself, but it felt strange not to know the name of the person sharing the compartment. At last, he drew in a breath and decided to speak. 

“I’m Charlie,” he said, his voice a little louder than he had meant. 

The boy turned from the window. His pale eyes fixated upon Charlie, studying him in a way that made Charlie’s chest tighten with sudden nerves. Then, after a brief pause, he answered. “Senan.” 

Charlie blinked. Senan. He rolled it silently in his mind — he had never heard that name before. It wasn’t as though Charlie disliked the name — not at all — in fact, he thought it was a very nice name. 

“That’s…different. I’ve never met anyone called Senan before.” 

Senan turned his head from the window again, fixing him with that steady, pale-eyed stare. For a heartbeat, Charlie wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. Then Senan’s mouth twitched, and in a flat, matter-of-fact voice he said, “I’ve been called it my whole life.” 

Charlie let out a startled laugh. The seriousness with which Senan delivered the line made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, as if Charlie had just asked whether the sky was blue. He clapped a hand over his grin, but his shoulders shook anyway.

Senan had turned back to the window, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth still lingered. It wasn’t much, but Charlie decided he’d take it. 

The train carried them further north, the countryside flickering past in shades of green and gold. Every so often, voices drifted in from the corridor — laughter, the slam of a door, the shrill cry of owls. 

He was peculiar, Charlie thought. He sat so still, eyes fixed on the view outside, and he didn’t even blink when Albert croaked his loudest. When Charlie pulled out the dragon, Senan hadn’t leaned forward to ask about it the way others had. He just looked, then continued to stare out the window. 

Albert croaked again, dragging himself up against the bars of his cage as if he meant to force his way out. Charlie laughed quietly and nudged the cage with his foot. “That’s Albert,” he explained. “He’s been cross ever since we left home. I think he hates trains.” 

Senan’s gaze flicked briefly down at the toad before lifting back to Charlie. “He doesn’t seem very happy,” he said. 

Before Charlie could think of something else to say, the door slid open. A plump witch stood in the doorway, pushing a cart of sweets. “Anything off the trolley, dears?” 

Charlie’s stomach gave a treacherous growl, but he shook his head quickly. “No, thanks,” he said, remembering his mothers voice about the sandwiches. Senan shook his head too, without a word. 

The trolley rattled away, but before the door could shut again, it opened a second time. A boy stood there, his hair sticking up in every direction. “Er—mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full.” 

Charlie shifted Albert’s cage to make space. “Yeah, course,” he said, nodding to the empty seat beside Senan. 

“Thanks,” the boy said. “I’m Niall—got way too much from the trolley, want some?” He asked. 

Before Charlie could answer, Niall shoved a pile of sweets across the seat towards him. There were cauldron cakes, chocolate frogs and more Pumpkin Pasties than Charley knew what to do with. 

Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Brilliant,” he said, taking a pasty at once and biting into it without hesitation. The pastry was warm, rich, and so good it made him forget for a moment about his mother’s sandwiches waiting in his bag. 

He glanced at Senan, who hadn’t moved. “Go on,” Charlie urged, nudging the bag towards him. 

Senan hesitated. For a moment, Charlie thought he would refuse, but then he reached in neatly and took a cauldron cake. He unwrapped it carefully, before taking a small bite. “Thank you,” he said simply. 

Niall tore the Chocolate Frog card free with a triumphant noise, holding it up for them to see. “Dumbledore again,” he groaned, tossing the card onto the seat. “That’s my third already. You’d think they’d mix them better.” 

Charlie leaned forward eagerly, brushing crumbs from his jumper before picking it up. “My brother Bill’s been collecting these for years,” he said, watching as the wizard tipped his hat before striding briskly out of the frame. 

“You can keep it, if you want,” Niall said with a shrug, already ripping into another box. 

Charlie’s grin widened. “Thanks,” he said quickly, pocketing the card. 

Niall grinned. “So,” he said, through a mouthful of chocolate, “what house d’you reckon we’ll be in?” His voice carried the excitement of someone who had been waiting his entire life to ask that exact question. 

Charlie swallowed the last of his pasty quickly, wiping his hands on his jumper. “Gryffindor,” he said, with almost absolute certainty. “My mum and dad were, and Bill’s there now. That’s where I’ll end up, no doubt.” His chest gave a small swell as he spoke. 

He glanced sideways at Senan, who had stayed silent throughout this encounter. “What about you, Senan?” He asked, his tone gentler now. “Any idea where you’ll be sorted?” 

Senan turned his head slowly. He looked at Charlie, then at Niall, as though thinking about his answer carefully before answering. His voice, when it came, was calm and low, carrying none of the excitement the other two had shared. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “I don’t really … understand what the difference is.” 

Niall shifted, eyebrows raising. “You don’t?” He said, surprised. 

Charlie leaned in a little closer, curiosity plain on his face. “You’re muggle-born, aren’t you?” He asked. 

Senan’s eyes lingered slightly, and then he gave a small nod. “Yes.” 

Niall nearly dropped the pumpkin pasty in his hand. “That’s brilliant!” he burst out, his voice tumbling over itself in excitement. “So your parents didn’t know anything about magic at all? Oh—and wait till you see Hogwarts, moving staircases and portraits that talk, and Quidditch—Merlin, you’ve never seen Quidditch, have you?“ His grin widened, and he pointed at Senan with the end of a pumpkin pasty. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll explain everything. Won’t we, Charlie?” 

The three boys had settled into a comfortable camaraderie, and Senan listened intently as Charlie (with animated help from Niall) explained Quidditch and the various balls, rules and player roles. 

It had started to get dark outside finally, when a crackle sounded above their head. “We will shortly be arriving at Hogsmeade Station,” came the driver’s magnified voice. “Please leave your belongings on the train to be taken up separately.” 

At once, the three boys were pulling their robes out from their bags, fumbling as he tried to tug them on over his head. Beside him, Niall was in fits of laughter as he managed to get both arms stuck in the same sleeve. 

“I think I’ve put mine on backwards,” he said, trying to wriggle free. By the time Niall had put on his robes the right way around, the train had started to slow down and Senan was waiting by the door. 

Charlie picked up Albert, who croaked in protest, and followed Niall and Senan out onto the platform. Cold night air rushed against his face as he stepped down and a booming voice rose over the crowd. 

“Firs’-years! Firs’-years, this way!” 

The first-years hurried after him, down a steep, stony path that cut through the trees. Charlie stuck close to Senan and Niall, watching his footing carefully. When he tripped over a root and nearly stumbled, Sena caught his arm before releasing him just as quickly. 

“You ought to carry that cage tighter,” he said. “If you drop it, he’ll be gone.” 

Charlie gave a breathless laugh, trying to hide his embarrassment. “You’re right, he’s slippery enough as it is.” 

From behind, Niall groaned. “You’ll be fishing him out of the lake on your own.” 

They broke out of the trees, and a murmur swept through the crowd. A vast black lake stretched before them, its surface glassy under the moonlight. Beyond it, high on a cliff, loomed Hogwarts Castle. Towers climbed into the night sky, and hundreds of windows burned with golden light. 

“Look at the size of it,” Niall breathed, wide-eyed. 

Charlie turned quickly to Senan, expecting the same awed look, but found him simply staring ahead with a  steady expression. His eyes flickered over the towers, the walls, the glowing windows, as calm as anything. 

“You don’t look impressed,” Charlie blurted. 

Senan glanced at him. “It’s … nice,” he said, his tone almost matter-of-fact. “But castles are supposed to be, aren’t they? It doesn’t surprise me.” He paused, and for the first time his mouth twitched at the corner. “Still, it’s better lit than I thought it would be.” 

Charlie stared at him. “Seen lots of castles in your time, Senan?” 

“Yes,” Senan replied calmly. 

“No more than four to a boat!” the giant’s shout rang out again, and the crowd began to shuffle towards the water where a line of little boats waited, lanterns shining at their prows. 

Charlie clutched Albert closer. “We’ll go together, yeah?” He said, glancing at Senan. 

Senan nodded. “If you like.” 

Niall tumbled in after them, and a fourth boy darted forward before the boat pushed off. He had sandy hair and looked a little nervous as he sat down. “Sorry, everywhere else was full. I’m Owen.” 

“Charlie,” Charlie said, nudging Albert’s cage into his lap. “This is Niall. And Senan.” 

The boat rocked gently as it set off, gliding smoothly across the dark water. Charlie leaned over the edge, eyes wide. “It’s moving on it’s own!” 

“Well, obviously.” Senan replied, looking surprised. “Are you sure you grew up with magic?” 

“I suppose you are right.” Charlie said, laughing a little, thankful it was dark as he was certain his face was now as red as his hair. 

At last they drifted into a wide underground harbour, the rock walls glistening with moisture. The boats nudged gently against the stone landing, and lanterns set along the shore showed the tall, bearded figure of the gamekeeper beckoning them on.

“Out you get!” he called, his booming voice echoing against the cavern walls. “An’ mind your step, this way now!”

Charlie climbed carefully out and Niall scrambled beside him, nearly toppling into the water before Owen grabbed his sleeve and yanked him upright. Senan stepped lightly onto the stone and waited until Charlie was beside him before following the rest of the group towards the path that wound upwards into the castle.

At last they emerged onto a flat stretch of ground before the castle. Its walls towered over them now, vast blocks of stone rising into the night sky. A pair of giant oak doors stood ahead, bound with black iron. Torches flickered in brackets on either side, casting the entrance in a golden glow.

The gamekeeper strode up the steps and knocked three times with his enormous fist. The booming sound echoed around them, making several of the first-years jump.

Charlie shifted on his feet, excitement and nerves swirling in his stomach. He looked at Senan again, wondering if anything could shake that steady calm. “Reckon it’ll be like this every year?” he asked in a low voice.

Senan’s eyes didn’t leave the doors. “No,” he said simply. “You only see it for the first time once.”

Before Charlie could answer, the doors swung open. A tall, stern-looking witch stood there, her dark hair pulled back tightly beneath her pointed hat. Her sharp gaze swept over the group, making them fall instantly silent.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” the gamekeeper said.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she replied briskly. Then, turning to the waiting children, “Come along now. Quickly.”

They filed in after her, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the stone floor. The entrance hall was enormous, lit by flaming torches and so vast that Charlie felt small just standing in it. The ceiling soared high above and on the far side stood another pair of doors, even larger than the first, and from behind them came the muffled sound of hundreds of voices.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. 

Her voice rang through the Entrance Hall, silencing the nervous whispers of the crowd of first-years. She looked so stern that Charlie instantly thought of his mother and one glance was enough to know she wasn’t someone you’d want to cross. 

“The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly,” she went on. “But before you take your seats, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a most important ceremony, for your house will be like your family while you are here. You will have classes together, eat together, and sleep in your house dormitory. Triumphs will earn you house points, while rule-breaking will lose them. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup.” 

Her lips thinned even further. “The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Follow me.” 

She turned briskly and they trailed after her, crossing the stone floor and filing through a pair of towering trouble doors. 

Charlie gasped before he could stop himself. The Great Hall was lit by thousands of floating candles, the flames flickering above four long tables set with golden plates and goblets. The ceiling was a stretch of midnight sky, so real that Charlie felt his neck ache from staring. All around them, students craned their heads to get a good look at the newcomers, voices echoing in burst of chatter. At the far end, the teachers sat at a long table, waiting expectantly. 

In the very front stood a small wooden stool. On top of it lay a patched and battered wizard’s hat. Its brim was frayed, and the rip along its crown looked very much like a mouth.

Senan leaned sideways towards Charlie. “We’ve got to wear that?” he whispered. 

Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the hat twitched. The rip opened wide, and the hat began to sing; 

Oh, you may think I’m shabby, frayed,
A ragged ancient thing, 
But I have magic deep inside, 
And wisdom fit for kings. 

For I am Hogwarts’ Sorting Hat, 
And I’ve a task to do, 
I’ll place you where you’ll find your friends, 
The house that best fits you. 

There’s Gryffindor, where dwell the brave,
With daring, nerve, and might, 
They’ll charge int the thick of things,
For what they feel is right. 

Then Hufflepuff, where patience reigns,
The loyal and the kind, 
They’ll work, they’ll toil, they’ll stand by you, 
And never fall behind. 

Or Ravenclaw, the clever house,
Where wit and wisdom shine, 
They’ll learn, they’ll dream, they’ll puzzle things, 
And treasure every sign. 

And Slytherin, with cunning minds,
Ambition burning strong, 
They’ll plan, they’ll strive, they’ll do what’s needed,
To get where they belong. 

So try me on, don’t be afraid, 
I’ll tell you where to start, 
For I can see inside your head,
I read your mind and heart. 

The last note faded and the Great Hall broke into rapturous applause. The Sorting Hat bent in a deep bow before collapsing back onto its stool. 

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, unrolled a long parchment, and held it up. “When I call your name,” she said, “step forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and sit on the stool.”  

The room hushed again, and Charlie felt his heartbeat thump against his ribs. 

“Addison, Margaret!” 

A tall girl with neat plaits hurried up. The hat had barely brushed her head before it bellowed, “HUFFLEPUFF!”, and the table on the right erupted into cheers. 

“Baxter, Simon!” 

“RAVENCLAW!” 

“Black, Adrian!” 

“SLYTHERIN!” 

On it went. “Douglas, Fergus!” became a Gryffindor to loud applause. “Elliott, Ruth” was made a Ravenclaw. “Fraser, Malcolm” joined Hufflepuff. 

“Grant, Isla!” earned another quick “GRYFFINDOR!” and she strutted over to sit beside Fergus. 

“MacMillan, Clara!” 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

Charlie clapped along with the rest, though his palms were damp. The line as growing shorter. 

“Tonks, Nymphadora!” 

A girl with bright magenta hair dashed forward, tripped on the step, and nearly toppled into the stool. “HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat called as soon as it touched her head. She fell again on her way to the Hufflepuff table, taking in all of the applause. 

Senan leaned a little closer to Charlie still, muttering, “I’m not sure I fancy everyone shouting my name like this.” 

Charlie gave a nervous laugh. “Better than sitting in silence, isn’t it?” 

Senan didn’t look convinced. His face had gone rather pale. 

Then—

“Weasley, Charles.” 

Every head seemed to swivel in his direction. Charlie’s ears burned. He caught sight of Bill at the Gryffindor table, waving encouragement with both hands, sitting beside Kirley Duke and Myron Wagtail. 

Charlie’s legs felt stiff as he crossed to the stool. He tugged the hat down over his eyes, and at once a voice spoke inside his head.

“Well now,” it purred. “A Weasley—yes, but not quite like the last one.”

Charlie’s hands gripped the stool. Different how?

“There’s plenty of courage here. You’ve nerve and boldness, no doubt about it. Gryffindor would take you gladly. But wait… there’s curiosity too. A hunger to know, to learn, to see. Ravenclaw could do well with you. Or perhaps Slytherin—you’d like to prove yourself, wouldn’t you? To stand out, even from your brother’s shadow.”

Not Slytherin, Charlie thought fast, heart racing. Not there. I want Gryffindor.

“So sure?” the hat mused. “Bravery over calculation. Heart before ambition. Yes… I see it. Very well, then. Better be… GRYFFINDOR!”

Charlie ripped the hat off, grinning with relief as the Gryffindor table erupted. Bill was on his feet, clapping like mad. Charlie all but ran to join him, sliding onto the bench with a face as hot as fire but a grin he couldn’t stop.

The next name came quickly. “Weir, Niall!”

Charlie twisted round in time to see Niall march up, grinning ear to ear. The hat had barely touched his hair before it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Told you I’d be here,” Niall said breathlessly as he dropped into the seat beside Charlie. Charlie laughed, giving him a hearty clap on the back.

“Wilkes, Senan.”

Charlie watched as Senan strode forward with his usual steady step—no rush, no dawdle. His pale face gave nothing away, though Charlie noticed the way his fingers tightened on the stool as he sat. The hat slipped down over his brow, and the hall grew quiet.

It seemed to take longer than most, but at last the Sorting Hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Charlie cheered along with the table, his chest loosening with relief. Senan’s face was calm as ever when he returned, though when he sat across from Charlie, Charlie caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Wood, Robert!”

A solid, dark-haired boy went up. The hat had barely landed before it declared, “GRYFFINDOR!” and the table thundered approval again.

The names went on—“Wright, Elspeth” to Ravenclaw, “Zeller, Gordon” to Hufflepuff—until at last the final student was sorted and Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment.

The stool and the Sorting Hat were carried aside, and the hall stilled as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. He spread his arms, his eyes bright with the candlelight.

“Welcome!” he said warmly, his voice carrying across the room. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I can think of few sights more heartening than new faces joining the old. That said, please do try to keep your noses, fingers, and elbows attached this year—it makes things far simpler for the staff.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the hall.

“Now then,” Dumbledore went on, “a few start-of-term notices. First-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is, as its name suggests, strictly forbidden. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, wishes me to remind you that magic is not to be used in the corridors between lessons. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term; anyone interested should speak to Madam Hooch. And finally, a warm welcome to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Galbraith.”

The teachers at the table led the applause.

Dumbledore smiled even wider. “And with that, let us not delay the most important part of the evening—the feast!”

At once the empty golden plates filled themselves with food: steaming chicken, sausages, potatoes, gravies, breads, and soups, while the goblets brimmed with pumpkin juice and water. The hall filled with gasps and chatter as the students began to tuck into the feast. 

Niall gave a loud whoop and reached straight across for the sausages. “Brilliant, isn’t it? I could eat the lot myself.”

“You always this greedy?” Charlie laughed, already spooning potatoes onto his own plate. His stomach growled loudly enough that Fergus Douglas, further down the table, snorted.

“Better greedy than fainting from hunger,” Niall shot back through a mouthful of bread.

Across from Charlie, Senan was serving himself in a much calmer fashion, carefully choosing a slice of chicken and a roll. He chewed slowly, like he was still half-deciding whether or not he he thought the food would poison him.

“You don’t have to look like it’s going to bite you,” Charlie teased, reaching for the gravy.

Senan gave him a level look. “I wasn’t,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, added, “But it is better than I expected.”

For a while the only sounds were clattering cutlery, chatter, and the odd burst of laughter from the tables. Charlie ate until his stomach felt fit to burst. Dishes kept refilling themselves as though the food had no end. By the time puddings appeared—jam tarts, treacle sponge, chocolate gateau—he was sure he couldn’t manage another bite.

Niall managed. He stuffed a tart into his mouth, then another, smearing jam on his sleeve in the process. “If this is every night,” he said around a mouthful, “I’ll never go home again.”

“You might get tired of it,” Senan said, though he was now working through a slice of treacle tart with quiet determination.

Charlie laughed into his goblet of pumpkin juice. “Not likely.”

At last, when the chatter had dulled to a lazy buzz and even Niall was slumped against the table with a hand over his stomach, the golden plates cleared themselves clean. Professor Dumbledore stood again, arms wide, a smile playing at his lips.

“Now that our appetites are seen to,” he said, “it is time for bed. A good night’s sleep will do wonders before lessons begin. First-years, please follow your prefects, who will lead you to your dormitories.”

A tall, freckled Gryffindor boy with sandy hair stood up from the middle of their table. “This way, first-years!” he called, waving an arm. “Stick together, you don’t want to get lost straight away.”

The group of new Gryffindors shuffled to their feet, trailing after him out of the hall. Charlie tried to keep close to Senan and Niall, though the crowd made it difficult. They climbed stair after stair, past moving portraits and flickering torches. Some of the portraits called out greetings or laughed as they went by.

By the time they reached a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress, Charlie’s legs ached. The prefect stopped, straightened his shoulders, and announced, “Password’s ‘Hogsnout.’”

The Fat Lady swung forward like a door, and the first-years stumbled inside. The common room was warm and bright, all red and gold, with squashy armchairs gathered around a crackling fire.

“Girls’ dormitory up there, boys’ down this way,” the prefect instructed, pointing to the staircases. “Off you go now. Tomorrow’ll be a long day.”

Charlie followed Niall and Senan down the stairs into a round room with five four-poster beds. His trunk sat waiting at the foot of one. He pulled on his pyjamas quickly, too tired to bother folding his clothes properly.

Niall collapsed onto his mattress with a groan of happiness. “Best bed I’ve ever seen.”

Senan drew his curtains neatly, settling without another word. Charlie lay back, staring up at the canopy above his bed. His eyelids were heavy, his stomach full, and the sound of the crackling fire above was oddly comforting.

Within minutes, he was asleep.