Chapter Text
King's Cross, September 1st, 1971.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was a symphony of bittersweet goodbyes and the thrilling promise of a magical future. The air practically hummed with an unmistakable mix of excitement and dread—an atmosphere Akari Kamo absorbed with every fiber of her being. The sharp scent of locomotive smoke, the sweet woodsy perfume of brand-new wands, and the distinct smell of polished leather from freshly bought trunks melded into an olfactory bouquet that burned her nostrils, etching itself into her memory. Beneath it all, the endless hum of hundreds of voices, the clatter of trunks rolling over cobblestones, and the steady hiss of steam escaping the majestic scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express created a deafening cacophony. Akari, tiny and almost insignificant amidst the sea of witches and wizards, clung to her father's hand with unusual strength. Her grip, though childlike, was a desperate anchor in the sheer vastness of the moment.
Her eyes, dark pools of deep blue, shone with a peculiar light, reflecting the excitement and nerves threatening to spill over. It wasn't tears of sadness dampening her eyelashes, but the spark of overwhelming wonder mixed with palpable anxiety. She scrutinized every passing face, searching for something familiar or, perhaps, some sign of what destiny had in store for her. Every billowing robe, every pointed hat, every pet peeking out of a tiny cage—she tried to carve every detail into her mind. It was a world that, until a few months ago, had been entirely alien to her; a distant fantasy she’d only heard about in whispers from her brother, Choso, now manifesting before her with a breathtaking reality. A stubborn strand of dark brown hair, forever escaping her flawless braid, fell across her forehead, and she blew it away with a nervous little huff that had become a habit over the last few days. Her lower lip, thin and pale, trembled almost imperceptibly, betraying the calm facade she was trying to project.
The hand of her father, Minister Kamo, was large and comforting, a bulwark against the pandemonium of the platform. His fingers, calloused from years of holding wands and signing complex ministerial decrees, closed with unexpected gentleness around his daughter’s tiny hand. The minister’s imposing figure, clad in deep navy traveling robes and carrying an unbreakable posture, stood in stark contrast to the small girl. He crouched slightly, bending his knees so his eyes—two serene sapphires sharing the exact shade as Akari's—met hers at eye level, conveying a calm that was entirely absent from the little girl's heart.
"What if the Hat... what if it doesn't put me in Gryffindor, Dad?" Akari's voice was a barely audible whisper, drowned out by the clamor of the platform, a childish plea revealing a much deeper fear. Panic was beginning to nest in her chest, a cold knot tightening beneath her sternum. The question wasn't just a childhood fear, but the weight of a legacy, an unbreakable tradition resting on her fragile shoulders. Her father was a Gryffindor, her mother was a Gryffindor, and even her older brother, Choso, was the very embodiment of the scarlet lion, the family's pride and joy on the Quidditch pitch. The thought of breaking that chain of honor ate at her from the inside, a frigid terror settling in her stomach like a tiny beast gnawing at her insides. The idea of disappointing her parents, of not measuring up to the Kamo name, was almost unbearable.
Minister Kamo smiled—a discreet, almost imperceptible curve of the lips he rarely showed in public, but one Akari knew well. It was a promise of safety, a shield against her fears. "The Kamos, Akari, have always been Gryffindors. It’s honor, justice, bravery. It’s what defines us. There is no doubt that it’s where you belong, little one. You have the heart of a Gryffindor. I can feel it right here." With his thumb, he traced a comforting little circle over his daughter's sternum, a gesture meant to instill the strength of her bloodline into her.
A barely concealed gleam of pride crossed her father's gaze. His eyes flicked briefly toward Choso, who, a few meters away, already stood with the confident swagger of a veteran. Being the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain in his third year was an exceptional achievement, a feat that filled the man with a quiet, closely guarded pride beneath his immaculate ministerial robes. Though he didn't say it out loud, he felt a profound joy seeing his firstborn excel like that—proof that Kamo blood wasn't just brave in the halls of the Ministry, but also in the skies of Hogwarts. A slight nod, a barely noticeable gesture, was all he allowed himself to acknowledge his eldest son's success before focusing back on his daughter.
The sigh that escaped the girl's lips was shaky, a mix of momentary relief and the lingering hum of underlying anxiety. The certainty in her father’s eyes, however, gave her a small but solid anchor in the middle of her own swirling uncertainty. She clung to that image, to the fact that her father believed in her, trying to clear the fog of her fears.
Behind them, a much smaller figure, barely nine years old, fidgeted with childish agitation, a whirlwind of sadness that was starting to bubble over. It was Yuji Kamo, the youngest brother; his brown eyes—identical to Choso's—already brimming with tears that flowed freely down his chubby cheeks. His light brown hair suddenly began shifting into a vibrant bubblegum pink, then a bright mint green, an electric blue, and a fiery orange in rapid succession—an uncontrolled reflection of his intense emotions. Yuji was a Metamorphmagus, a gift that often flared up during moments of extreme stress or joy, and one he still couldn't quite control at his young age.
He stretched out a small, desperate hand toward his sister, his little fingers barely brushing the future student’s robes.
"Akari! Don't go!" Yuji sobbed, his voice high-pitched and broken with sorrow, a pitiful wail that rose above the platform's chatter. He clung to his mother’s leg, burying his face in the fabric of her traveling robes, pleading with his eyes, wishing with every fiber of his being that his sister would take him with her to that magical place everyone kept talking about. His narrow shoulders shook with uncontrollable hiccups, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Yuji’s hair, now a shocking fuchsia, seemed to vibrate with every sob.
Mrs. Kamo, an elegant woman with a commanding presence, leaned down to comfort Yuji. Her sweet expression was tainted by clear frustration over the scene, a slight twitch in her left eyebrow betraying her impatience with her youngest son's public tantrum. Her eyes, though compassionate, showed weariness at the little Metamorphmagus's overwhelming outbursts.
Off to the side, already wearing his Gryffindor uniform with the easy confidence of a third-year, Choso watched the family drama with a smug smirk. His jet-black hair, slightly tousled by the wind—or perhaps by his own restless energy—fell over his brown eyes, which sparked with a hint of amusement at the sight of Yuji crying. A faint smile of superiority played on his lips. The Quidditch Captain, the family's athletic prodigy, never missed a chance to tease his little sister.
"Well, well, little Akari is going to be all alone with the ghosts!" Choso drawled, his voice just loud enough for his sister to hear, but quiet enough to avoid an immediate scolding from his parents. A playful smirk spread across his face, revealing a mischievous dimple in his cheek. He knew exactly how to push Akari’s buttons, and the fear of being alone was a big one.
Akari whipped her head around, her blue eyes glaring daggers at her older brother. "I am not going to be alone! And I'm not a crybaby!" she snapped, her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. Her voice came out surprisingly loud, making a few curious bystanders turn their heads. Her little fists clenched tightly at her sides, fighting the urge to punch something.
Choso let out a loud laugh, bright and open—music to his own ears. "Sure you're not, Akari! Who's going to protect you from the Giant Squid in the lake? Or the grumpy House-Elves? You're going to wish your big brother, the great Captain Choso, was around!"
"I don't need your protection, Choso! And House-Elves are nice! You don't know anything!" Akari retorted, her eyebrows knitted in absolute indignation. Her whole body tensed, ready for a fight despite their parents being right there. The rivalry between them was a constant, a dance of jabs and comebacks that had defined most of her childhood.
Mrs. Kamo's voice, laced with cold, cutting authority, rang through the air, her eyes zeroing in on Choso, putting an end to the little skirmish. "Choso, stop bothering your sister. And listen to me well, young man—this year, I want you to focus much more on your studies. Less Quidditch and more Arithmancy, understood?" Her index finger, adorned with a modest family signet ring, rose slightly to emphasize her words. Her jaw was set. "Your father and I expect great things from your career at the Ministry, not from a broomstick, no matter how much of a Captain you are. We have a legacy to maintain, and you don't do that by flying after a Snitch or guarding a hoop."
Choso shrugged with infuriating nonchalance, his grin widening as he tried to brush it off, a silent challenge in his eyes. "Yeah, Mom. Whatever you say. A Gryffindor isn't scared of a test!" he replied breezily, a touch of thinly veiled cheekiness in his tone. He glanced over at the train and whistled a casual, off-key tune, acting as if the engine itself was urgently calling his name. With that show of disinterest, he managed to take the edge off the reprimand, knowing full well that while his mother disapproved of his obsession, his father secretly shared his passion for the sport—a quiet, unspoken understanding between men that his mother would never get.
The sharp whistle of the Hogwarts Express shrieked again, longer and more pressing this time, a scream promising an imminent departure. The young Kamo's mother, now composed and wearing a resigned expression, wiped away Yuji's final tears with an embroidered silk handkerchief and hugged him tight, trying to soothe his childish heartbreak. The little boy's hair, following his emotional blowout, had settled into a glaring lime green—a color that now seemed to scream his sadness out loud.
"Akari! It's time!" Mrs. Kamo called out, flashing a forced smile that barely hid her own melancholy over her daughter leaving. She made a sharp gesture toward the open door of one of the carriages, urging her to board quickly.
The little girl said goodbye to her mother with a quick hug, her tiny frame trembling slightly as she felt Yuji's teary, pleading eyes on her. The Metamorphmagus, sporting hair a shade of green that wouldn't look out of place on a goblin, clung to his mother, his beady brown eyes locked onto his sister as if trying to freeze this last second in time.
"Akari!" the little boy cried again, gripping his mother's robes even tighter. "Come back soon, I'm going to miss you so much!"
"It's okay, Yuji. We'll be home for Christmas, I promise!"
Akari felt a pang in her heart seeing her little brother's despair, but there was no turning back now. She took a deep breath, a desperate bid to calm her racing heart, which was currently pounding in her ears. She looked at Choso, who, despite his teasing, gave her a nearly invisible wink—a silent show of sibling solidarity and support, a small act of kindness cutting through the family tension.
With her trunk—still way too big for her size—rattling loudly beside her, the witch-in-training headed for the carriage, her small figure pushing through the crowd with pure determination. Every step was a victory over her own nerves, proof that she was ready for the challenge. The engine's steam enveloped her in a warm, damp cloud, and the chatter of the platform grew muffled, as if the outside world was already fading away.
Right before stepping aboard, she turned to look at her family one last time. In the distance, their figures were already shrinking, blurry silhouettes swallowed by the train's steam. She saw her mother wiping away a tear, her father wearing his look of quiet pride, and Yuji—his hair now a vibrant orange—waving a desperate hand.
The Hogwarts Express lurched forward with a deep groan, an iron beast slowly waking up, dragging its young passengers along with it. The platform, a melting pot of promises and bittersweet farewells, blurred into the white mist of the engine, and the train's final whistle carried away the breath of a brand-new adventure. This time, it was hers alone.
Akari's familiar world shrank in the distance, condensing until it was nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon, swallowed by the morning fog and the mist pouring from the engine. The young witch, lugging a first-year trunk that dwarfed her petite frame, made her way down the narrow corridor of the Hogwarts Express. The clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks was a constant hum beneath her feet, a metronome for her own racing heartbeat. Her free hand gripped the strap of her satchel with unconscious force, her knuckles turning white under the skin.
Every compartment she passed was a window into a universe of experiences already underway: the raucous laughter of older boys playing cards, the conspiratorial whispers of girls sharing secrets, the hoot of an impatient owl from its cage, the smell of honey and the discarded Chocolate Frog wrappers already piling up on the floor. Most of the compartments were full, seats claimed by students who clearly already knew each other, safe in their impenetrable bubbles of friendship and camaraderie—completely locked off to a newcomer. Akari felt a sharp pang of loneliness, the very same one she had tried to swallow down on the platform, rushing back to hit her again. Her lower lip, thin and pale, trembled once more.
Suddenly, a heavy hand dropped onto her shoulder, making her jump. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. It was Choso. His Gryffindor uniform was spotless despite the chaos of the platform, even if his hair was still a total mess. Standing beside him was Kenjaku Geto, Choso's unconditional best friend, a third-year Ravenclaw with a reputation for being as brilliant as he was scheming. She already knew him from the summer, since her brother invited him over to stay at their house for a few weeks every year. His black hair was tied back in a low bun, and he was watching the scene with the reserved curiosity so typical of him.
"Akari! What are you doing out here all alone, looking as lost as a wandering Flobberworm?" His voice dripped with exaggerated mockery, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. Kenjaku chuckled—a dry, cerebral sound—while Choso threw an arm around her shoulders, pointing her down the train. "Come sit with us. We're in the third carriage, you know, where the people who actually know how to have fun are! Come on, Kenjaku and I will make room for you."
Akari felt her cheeks flush hot. Choso, with an ego the size of a Hippogriff, was the absolute last thing she needed right now. With a quick glance at Kenjaku, who was studying her with almost academic intrigue, the younger Kamo leaned in toward her brother, her voice dropping to a harsh, exasperated whisper.
"Choso, please! I don't want them knowing I'm your sister! Not yet, anyway. You're embarrassing me!" Her pleading gaze met his, silently begging him to keep it a secret, at least for a little while. She needed to carve out her own space, out from under the massive shadow of the newly famous Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. The weight of the Kamo name was heavy enough; adding Choso's popularity to the mix was a burden she wasn't ready to shoulder on her very first day.
Choso let out a barking laugh, earning an intrigued raised eyebrow from Kenjaku. "Embarrassed of me?! I'm the envy of the whole school right now! The future Seeker for the Magpies!" He puffed out his chest dramatically, thoroughly enjoying his sister's reaction. "But hey, if the little Gryffindor wants to play it mysterious, be my guest! You're going to be bored out of your mind like a Mandrake, though."
Kenjaku stroked his chin, an enigmatic smile curving his lips. "I understand the desire to forge your own identity, Choso. It’s a noble aspiration, albeit naive. Don't worry, Akari. Your secret is safe with us. For now." His piercing, dark green eyes seemed to look right through her, a detail that left her feeling deeply unsettled.
"Thanks, Kenjaku," Akari sighed, relieved by his words, even if his tone didn't inspire total confidence. She shot a withering glare at Choso. "Bye. I'll see you... at the Gryffindor table, I guess."
Without waiting for an answer, the young Kamo resumed her trek down the corridor, lugging her heavy trunk with renewed determination. The train had reached its cruising speed, the green British countryside blurring past the windows. The compartments still felt like impenetrable fortresses, and the sheer panic of not finding a seat started to claw at her throat. The other first-year girls seemed to have either vanished or already claimed their spots. What if she couldn't find a seat? Would she have to sit in the corridor for the whole ride? The mere thought was humiliating.
After what felt like centuries of endless footsteps and full compartments, she reached the end of the carriage. Just before the crossing to the next car, a half-open compartment caught her eye. A sliver of light spilled out from the gap, inviting her to peek inside. Laughter drifted out, but it wasn't the happy, friendly kind. It was harsh, dry laughter, laced with a cruelty that made her blood run cold, tying her stomach into a tight knot. Akari's heart dropped, a dark premonition washing over her—a gut feeling that something was very wrong.
She approached cautiously, her small feet nearly silent on the worn carpet of the corridor, and gently pushed the door with her foot, opening it just enough to see inside.
What she saw made her whole body go rigid, her muscles coiling like springs ready to snap. The compartment was a disaster zone. Scattered across the floor next to the seats were a girl's belongings: a smashed set of peacock-feather quills, their delicate, colorful shafts snapped and strewn about; a rolled-up parchment with its ribbon torn off; a couple of textbooks splayed open, covers bent; and, worst of all, a small glass inkwell tipped on its side, its black ink bleeding into a dark, glistening puddle over the cover of "A History of Magic," completely ruining the book. The sight of that stain, the utter disrespect for school supplies, turned her stomach. It was deliberate vandalism. Pointless cruelty.
In the center of the compartment, pinned against the window, was a girl with bluish-black hair, average height, and a slightly hunched posture. Her delicate, oval face was masked in absolute panic and deep shame, her eyes locked onto the spilled ink like it was hard proof of her own uselessness. Large, dark brown eyes brimmed with silent tears that tracked down her flushed cheeks, and her lower lip—swollen from the pressure—showed how hard she was biting down to hold back a sob. Her hair fell pin-straight to her waist, catching a blue sheen under the dim light of the compartment, and a delicate lily hairpin gleamed against her chest on what Akari now recognized as unmarked first-year robes. The young witch was being bullied, no doubt about it.
Looming over her, dominating the small space with a presence way too intimidating for his age, stood two boys in her year, both wearing pristine first-year uniforms. One was noticeably tall and lean, with stark white hair that practically glowed, messy but styled with a calculated arrogance that Akari found instantly repulsive. His icy blue eyes glinted with blatant insolence, a sneer plastered on his lips. The other boy, raven-haired and sporting a much calmer expression, had his hair tied back in a low bun. He was holding a wand pointed threateningly at the cornered girl, the slender tip vibrating faintly in the air. Akari didn't know the white-haired boy; she’d never seen him in her family's circles or at Ministry events. The other one, however—the dark-haired boy with the low bun—looked weirdly familiar. Her brain made the connection almost instantly: the resemblance to Kenjaku, Choso's friend, was undeniable. They were brothers.
The white-haired boy, wearing a predator's grin, was relishing the girl's humiliation. "Come on, Mudblood. Just say the word. Admit you're pathetic. Admit your kind is the scum of Hogwarts, useless and weak. Admit you don't belong here with us." His voice was pure, distilled venom, every word meticulously chosen to inflict maximum pain and degradation.
The girl choked out a sob, the sound dying in her throat as she failed to form a word. Her head hung low in submission, the purple hue of her eyes barely visible under her puffy eyelids. The shame was practically a physical aura around her, a thick fog wrapping her up and making her look even smaller and more vulnerable.
Ice-cold fury flooded Akari’s veins, a rage that slithered up her spine like a snake. A tightness seized her chest—that exact same instinct for justice her father had drilled into her since she was a baby ignited inside her with fierce intensity, burning her soul. She couldn't just let this happen! The honor of the Kamo name wouldn't allow her to stand by and do nothing while someone was degraded like this. She shoved the compartment door wide open with a hard, deafening bang, the sound cracking like thunder in the tiny space. She stormed in with such force that all three of them whipped their heads around in unison.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The little Kamo's voice rang out with an authority she didn't even know she had, a sheer force that shocked even herself. Her stance, though tiny, was entirely defiant. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, fully prepared for a fight.
The white-haired boy, startled by the sudden interruption, blinked his blue eyes before an arrogant smirk—almost a snarl of disdain—slid right back onto his face, rebuilding his mask of invincibility. "Well, look at this, Suguru. A busybody. Didn't anyone ever teach you to mind your own business, stupid? This doesn't concern you."
Akari ignored him completely, her blue eyes fixed on the other boy—the one with black hair tied in a bun, the one she had recognized as Kenjaku’s brother. Her gaze was pure reproach, a silent accusation.
"So you're Kenjaku's brother!" the young Kamo exclaimed bluntly, the words slipping from her lips with clear intent. There was no confusion in her voice, only an annoyed certainty. "I can't believe someone as close to him as his little brother is doing this! He would never stoop so low as to bully a half-blood!" Akari pointed a finger at the cornered girl, her voice heavy with indignation, the words tumbling out in a rush fueled by adrenaline and righteous anger.
Suguru Geto blinked at the mention of his brother Kenjaku and the implicit comparison to his own behavior. An expression of genuine bewilderment and, more importantly, a shadow of profound shame crossed his face. His low bun swayed slightly as he tilted his head. Without a word, he slowly lowered his wand, the formerly threatening tip now pointing harmlessly at the floor. His posture relaxed a fraction, the arrogance melting away as the shame began to sink in, a flush creeping up his cheeks. He had been caught off guard by a little girl, and his own brother had been invoked as a moral standard he was failing to meet.
The white-haired boy let out a harsh, barking laugh, a derisive and mocking sound that echoed in the small compartment. His slender frame straightened, and with unparalleled arrogance, he stepped closer to Akari, his height imposing despite also being a first-year. His smile twisted into a sneer of superiority, his confidence unshakable. "Look, you idiot, I don't know who you think you are, coming here and giving us orders. I'm Satoru Gojo. Does the name Gojo ring a bell? I'm from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. My family is—"
But she didn't let him finish. The mention of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the entitled albino's overbearing tone made the Kamo pride—the very same her father had invoked mere minutes ago—ignite with a fierce intensity in her chest, drowning out any shred of nervousness or embarrassment. She was sick and tired of stupid hierarchies, of last names that granted unearned power, and of airs of superiority.
"I don't care who you are, Satoru Gojo, and I don't give a damn if you belong to the Sacred Twenty-Eight or whatever!" the young Kamo shouted, raising her voice so he would hear her loud and clear over his own laughter. She raised her index finger, pointing at him with a determination that would have shocked her own parents. Her normally serene eyes now sparked with contained fury, two burning coals in the bluish dark. "The only thing that matters is that you're a bully and a jerk! And bullies and jerks aren't welcome here! Now get out of this compartment, both of you! Leave that girl alone! And pick up what you knocked over!" Her small hand moved swiftly, waving sharply toward the door—an imperious gesture that left no room for argument.
Suguru, his wand still lowered and the shadow of shame deepening on his face, moved quickly. Without a word, he began to hastily gather his own things and those of the cornered girl—even the overturned inkwell and the stained books—with an almost mechanical efficiency, as if trying to rid himself of an unbearable embarrassment. He seemed genuinely uncomfortable with the situation; Akari's reprimand, so direct and fearless, had affected him more than Satoru could ever guess. His gaze met the young brunette's briefly, and with a nearly imperceptible nod—a silent apology—he slipped past them, a tacit promise not to repeat his behavior.
Satoru Gojo, however, stood petrified, his mouth agape, words trapped in his throat, completely unable to form a retort. His face, which had previously been a mask of arrogance and disdain, was now flushing a brilliant red—an intense color that crawled rapidly up from his neck to the tips of his ears, contrasting vividly with his stark white hair. It was the first time anyone had ever dared to speak to him like that. Let alone a first-year girl who seemingly didn't know her place in the wizarding world, nor the status of the Gojo clan. His blue eyes, previously icy and mocking, now burned with a contained fury, an expression of pure disbelief and rage—a rage that promised to linger, a wound to his pride he wouldn't easily forget.
Seeing Satoru's reaction, Akari felt a tiny victory bubble up in her chest, a sweet sense of glee. She knew she had struck a nerve, that she had pierced his impenetrable shield of arrogance. With a quickness surprising for her size, she pushed Suguru lightly on the back, hurrying him out of the compartment with trunk in hand. Then, before Satoru could fully react or find the words to snap back, she delivered the final blow, a masterstroke of childish insolence that rang out in the tense silence.
She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue in a brazen, childish, and tremendously effective gesture, mocking him with astonishing audacity. "And I don't care about your family, not even one knut! Not even if you're part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!" she declared in a clear, determined voice, her small figure radiating a bravery that belied her size and defied any social convention or ancient hierarchy.
Immediately after, without giving Satoru a chance to reply or regain his composure, Akari Kamo slid the compartment door shut with a sharp, resounding thud that made the glass rattle, sealing the fate of the confrontation. The sound echoed down the corridor, a mute testament to the unexpected clash that had just taken place. Satoru was left on the other side, red-faced, seething with anger, his body rigid with sheer frustration; meanwhile, Suguru Geto watched the scene with a mix of surprise, a hint of admiration, and a growing fascination for the little girl who had just put the untouchable Satoru Gojo in his place.
Inside the compartment, the silence was thick, broken only by the soft, now slightly weaker sobs of the girl with the lily, blending into the whistle of the train as it continued its inexorable journey toward Hogwarts.
Akari turned toward the cornered girl, her posture still tense, but her eyes—once sparking with fury—now softened with evident compassion. She approached with cautious steps, as if afraid to spook a small animal. The girl still had her head bowed, her bluish hair hiding most of her face. Akari crouched down slightly to meet her at eye level, offering her a small, reassuring smile.
"Are you okay?" Akari asked softly, her voice a gentle murmur. She extended a small, delicate hand in an open and sincere gesture to help her up. Her fingers brushed the sleeve of the other girl's robes, feeling her tremble.
The girl slowly lifted her head, her large brown eyes—wet and red from crying—meeting Akari's. There was a mix of surprise and gratitude in them, but also a profound shame that still clung to her. With an almost imperceptible nod, she accepted Akari's hand and slowly stood up, her movements clumsy and hesitant.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Thank you." Her voice was a barely audible whisper, heavy with a shyness that made her shrink into herself. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to hide her tears. "My name is Utahime. Utahime Iori," she introduced herself, though embarrassment forced her gaze back down to the stained floor.
Akari smiled a little wider, feeling an instant connection to Utahime's vulnerability. "I'm Akari Kamo. It's nice to meet you, Utahime." Her gaze fell on the lily brooch pinned to Utahime's chest, a tiny note of beauty amidst the chaos. "You don't have to thank me for anything. No one has the right to treat another person like that, or to trash their things."
Utahime nodded, watching Akari with hesitant curiosity. Her lips, still swollen from where she had bitten them, moved with difficulty. "Thank you, Akari. Really. But... what did that word mean? The one the white-haired boy said. 'Mudblood.' I didn't understand it. Is it something bad?" The question, asked with an almost painful innocence, made Akari's face tense up. There was a glimmer of confusion in Utahime's eyes, a genuine ignorance that Akari found deeply concerning.
Akari felt a knot form in her stomach. Explaining that term was uncomfortable, an ugly stain on the wizarding world that she completely abhorred. Her parents, despite being from a pure-blood family, had always instilled in them a respect for all witches and wizards, regardless of their origins. Her father, in particular, used to speak with sheer disdain about those who threw such words around. She swallowed hard, searching for the right words, trying to soften the harshness of the truth.
"Uhm... it's an ugly word, Utahime. Very ugly," Akari began, her tone dropping lower, almost into a conspiratorial whisper. "It's a... derogatory term. Some families, the ones that consider themselves 'pure,' like mine or that boy's, use it to refer to witches and wizards who have non-magical parents or grandparents. Meaning, Muggles. They think... that they're better than them, or more important, just because they were born into a wizarding family. It's... a way of calling you 'inferior'." Akari frowned, the distaste evident on her face. "But it's nonsense. Total nonsense. My father says it's one of the biggest stupidities in our world, that magic doesn't choose blood—it chooses heart and talent."
Utahime's eyes widened, comprehension—and with it, a fresh veil of pain—crossing her face. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth, an expression of deep sadness and shock mixed with a hint of still-unarticulated anger. "Oh. I see. I understand." Her voice faded, her shoulders shrinking slightly. "So... does that mean I'm...?"
Feeling the sting in Utahime's heart, Akari rushed to intervene, her small hands resting firmly on the other girl's shoulders, trying to comfort her. "No. It means they're prejudiced idiots. And that they don't know you. Nor do they deserve you. But tell me, is your family... are they Muggles? Do you come from a non-magical home?"
Utahime nodded, her eyes still glued to the floor, her voice barely a thread. "Yes. My parents are Muggles. They never knew anything about magic until the letter came. I'm really nervous about all of this. It's... it's a completely new world to me. And they... they were really scared." She brought her fingers to her mouth, biting her lower lip, a nervous gesture Akari recognized. "I'm the first witch in my family in... I don't know how many generations. My parents are proud, but also a bit... lost. It's all very confusing."
Akari felt a wave of empathy. This girl wasn't just dealing with the novelty of the magical world, but also with the shock of a family completely out of their depth, topped with the bullying of some of the most arrogant wizards around. It was a lot for a girl her age. Understanding Utahime's vulnerability solidified something deep within Akari's heart.
"Well, don't worry. I'm not going to leave you alone." Akari extended her hand again, this time to gently take Utahime's, giving it a squeeze in a tacit gesture of promise. "I'm Akari Kamo, and I promise you that no one will ever call you that again, not while I'm around. And if they do, they'll have to deal with me. We're not all like that, you know? A lot of families, like mine, believe that we are all equal, that what matters is talent and character, not where you come from." A small, genuine, and firm smile formed on Akari's lips.
Utahime looked at Akari's hand, then up at her determined face, and a tiny smile—the first one Akari had seen—graced her pale lips. It was a sad smile, but a sincere one. "Thank you, Akari. You're very kind."
Her eyes, however, drifted back to her copy of A History of Magic, the ink stain glistening horribly under the compartment's light. A sigh of sheer desolation escaped her lips. "But... my books. They're new. And now..." She trailed off, the words choked by sadness. Those books, despite being mere study materials, represented her gateway into a dream world, and seeing them like this, ruined by someone else's malice, was a harsh blow.
Akari followed her gaze and saw the ink stain, an expression of sheer determination replacing the compassion on her face. "Don't worry about that. Let's fix it!" Without a moment of hesitation, Akari reached into the inner pocket of her travel robes and pulled out her wand.
It was an elegant, simple wand, eleven inches long, made of cherry wood, with a unicorn hair core. Its surface was smooth and a light honey color, with a slight curve at the handle that fit perfectly into her small hand. It had a subtle, almost imperceptible sheen, as if containing its own inner light. The wand felt alive in her fingers, a natural extension of her will. She held it with confidence, aiming the fine tip at the stained book on the floor.
Utahime's eyes widened, watching Akari's wand with a mix of fascination and reverential awe. She had never seen magic up close—at least not in a controlled and deliberate way, only the chaotic outbursts of her own magical awakening and the terror of Gojo and Suguru's attack.
Akari focused her mind, recalling the lessons her father had given her on cleaning spells. With a decisive flick of the wrist, a precise swish and tap, and a clarity of pronunciation that surprised Utahime, Akari recited the incantation:
"Evanesco Inctus!" Akari's voice was firm and self-assured, ringing out in the small compartment.
A faint blue light, almost unnoticeable at first, emanated from the tip of her wand, spreading like a fine mist over the book's cover. Utahime's eyes locked onto the stain. Before her astonished eyes, the black ink began to tremble, shrink, and disappear, as if it were being absorbed by the parchment itself. In a matter of seconds, the stain dissolved entirely, and the cover of A History of Magic was left as immaculate as if it had never been touched, the illustrations and lettering as crisp as if it had just left the shop. The smell of ink vanished, replaced by the faint scent of fresh parchment.
Akari smiled in satisfaction and put her wand away. "Done! Good as new. I won't let those jerks ruin your things."
Utahime gasped, her gaze glued to the book, then to Akari, then back to the book. Her mouth fell open slightly, and her embarrassment melted away, replaced by a genuine, almost star-struck admiration. Her eyes were shining—not with tears, but with pure, unadulterated awe.
"Wow! Akari! That was... that was incredible! I've never seen—!" Utahime leaned closer to the book, running a hand over the cover as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her face lit up with a wide, bright smile, finally free of shyness and sadness. "You really are an amazing witch! Thank you! Thank you so much!"
In that moment, surrounded by clean books and the promise of a budding friendship, the Hogwarts Express compartment filled with a warmth that completely dispelled the cold cruelty from before. Akari and Utahime, two girls from vastly different backgrounds, had found a safe haven in each other's hearts.
The rhythmic clattering of the Hogwarts Express, which had been the constant backdrop of their journey, began to slow down, shifting into a soft hum and then a metallic hiss as the brakes engaged with a sigh of steam. The compartment lights flickered and finally died, plunging the corridor into near-total darkness, save for the moonlight spilling through the windows and the glow of lanterns igniting in the distance. A shiver of anticipation ran through Akari Kamo. They had arrived.
The train jerked to a halt with a final, resonant whoosh of steam. The carriage doors squeaked open, and a rush of crisp, damp air flooded the space, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of pine, wet earth, and, strangely, something sweet like chocolate. A chorus of excited voices and the scraping of heavy trunks filled the corridor.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" A booming voice, deep and echoing like a controlled explosion, cut through the students' chatter. The voice wasn't impatient or harsh, but overflowing with contagious joy and enthusiasm, like the friendly bark of a giant dog.
Akari and Utahime, who had been chatting animatedly about the magic of the textbooks and their expectations for classes, jumped slightly. They shared a look, their eyes shining with a mix of nerves and excitement. Camaraderie had blossomed quickly between them; Utahime's shyness had softened in the face of Akari's bluntness, and the latter had found a quiet, curious ally in Utahime.
"That must be the person picking us up," Utahime whispered, her purple eyes fixed in the direction of the voice, biting her lower lip nervously.
Akari nodded with renewed determination. As they stepped off the train, the night air wrapped around them, cooler and crisper than they had imagined. They found themselves on a tiny, dark platform that seemed suspended in nowhere. The light from the lanterns barely managed to pierce the thick surrounding darkness. The imposing silhouette of a man, so massive he looked like a walking mountain, towered at the end of the platform, blocking the light of the lanterns he held in his massive hand.
"C'mon, firs' years! Don't be shy! Over here!" the voice roared again, and the giant figure moved toward them, stepping into the light.
He was a man of colossal proportions, the biggest Akari had ever seen. His long, tangled, dark brown hair and bushy beard covered most of his face, but his eyes, glinting with sincere kindness, were like lively black beetles that radiated an immense warmth. He wore a thick overcoat over several layers of clothing, which only added to his already impressive bulk. In his right hand, he held a lantern that cast dancing beams of light over the awestruck faces of the first-years.
"Hello, everyone!" the man exclaimed, his voice a deep, friendly rumble despite its volume. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Good to see yeh all! Right then, follow me! We haven't got all night!"
The first-years, a sea of brand-new robes and expectant faces, began to follow Hagrid down a steep, narrow path, dark and rocky, that descended through what appeared to be a wooded hillside. The scent of damp earth and pine grew stronger, mingling with the distant smell of a wood-burning fire. Akari and Utahime walked together, their shoulders brushing in the gloom.
"Keep up now, kids. We gotta cross the lake!" Hagrid announced, his lantern swinging with every step, casting ghostly shadows against the ancient trees towering around them.
As the path opened up and the forest fell away, a breathtaking spectacle revealed itself to the young witches and wizards. A vast expanse of dark, serene water, the Black Lake, stretched out before them, its glassy surface reflecting a star-studded sky. But it wasn't the sheer size of the lake that captured Akari and Utahime's attention; it was what stood on the other side.
There, majestic and gleaming under the moonlight, stood Hogwarts Castle. It was a sight that stole the breath from their lungs, a monument of dark stone with countless towers and turrets reaching toward the night sky, its battlements and pointed roofs silhouetted against the stars. The windows, hundreds of them, glowed with a warm, golden light, like eyes watching the arrival of the new students. Massive walls stretched out, connecting sections of the castle, and a drawbridge spanned over a dark moat. It was so much bigger than any textbook drawing or childhood imagination could have ever conjured.
Gasps of awe rippled through the crowd of students. Some stood entirely open-mouthed, while others pointed with trembling fingers. Akari and Utahime felt a knot form in their throats. It was a vision that surpassed every expectation, a tangible promise of the magical world waiting for them.
"Oh, I can't believe it!" Utahime gasped, her voice a breathless murmur of pure admiration. Her eyes were glued to the castle, shining with a mix of fascination and reverence. Her hands instinctively flew to her mouth, trying to hold back the squeal of amazement threatening to escape. "Akari... it's... it's gigantic! It's so much bigger than I thought! It's so... magical!"
The brunette, for her part, felt goosebumps prickle her skin. Her own curious eyes, usually so calm and observant, widened, reflecting the shimmering lights of the castle. A look of sheer wonder pulled at her lips, a smile she rarely showed with such intensity. She had pictured the castle, she had seen illustrations, but nothing compared to the imposing reality looming before them. She could feel the magic in the air, an almost palpable vibration radiating from every tower, from every ancient stone.
"It's... incredible, Utahime," Akari murmured, her voice barely a whisper of awe. Her eyes mapped every detail, trying to absorb the sheer scale of the view. She turned to Utahime, and a spark of excitement passed between them. The promise of a new life, of adventures and knowledge, hung over them, as vast and mysterious as the castle itself. "It's way, way bigger than my dad ever said! This is insane!"
Hagrid, who had been watching the kids' reactions with a broad, satisfied smile, gestured with his lantern toward a fleet of small wooden boats waiting at the edge of the lake, bobbing gently on the dark water. Each boat was big enough for four or five students, its oars resting idle.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid bellowed. "And don't nobody go tryin' magic! It's tradition!"
Akari and Utahime hurried into the same boat, sitting side-by-side, their small trunks having already been transported somehow. Two other first-years, a blonde boy and a redheaded girl, joined them, their faces equally lit up with wonder. The boat lurched forward with a gentle push, and slowly, the fleet of little vessels began to glide silently across the Black Lake, heading straight for the majestic silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. Its lights grew larger and closer, promising a welcome to the wizarding world. The chill off the lake was refreshing against their faces, but the warmth of friendship and anticipation filled their hearts.
The journey across the Black Lake felt almost dreamlike. The boats sliced through the dark water, the silence broken only by the soft splashing of the oars Hagrid wielded with impressive strength, guiding the fleet. The air was freezing, but the sight of the castle, growing taller with every yard they crossed, chased away any sense of the cold. The illuminated windows now looked like kind, watchful eyes, and the towers reached like accusing fingers toward the starry sky. Akari and Utahime clung to the edges of the boat, leaning slightly forward, desperate not to miss a single detail of the grand fortress. They could make out tiny figures moving inside the castle, blurry silhouettes that made the place feel so incredibly alive.
Finally, the boats came to a stop with a soft bump against a rocky shore right beneath the castle's foundations. Hagrid hopped out with surprising agility for his size, tying off the boats and offering a massive hand to help each kid disembark.
"Right then, this way! Follow me!" his deep voice guided them through a dark tunnel carved into the living rock, which seemed to lead directly into the heart of the castle. The walls were damp stone, and the air smelled of mildew, centuries of history, and ancient magic. Torches placed sporadically in wall niches cast a flickering, yellowish light, throwing dancing shadows that made the walls themselves seem to writhe.
The tunnel was steep, and Akari had to grab Utahime's arm to keep her from slipping on the time-polished stones. They climbed, listening to the echo of their own footsteps and the excited murmuring of the other students. At the end of the tunnel, a wide stone opening revealed itself, spilling out onto a spacious landing in what looked like an underground cavern, though fitted with well-carved steps. From there, a broad flight of stone stairs, worn down by countless feet, led up toward the light.
Reaching the top of the stairs, they emerged into a vast, cavernous entrance hall. The air was warmer here, smelling strongly of woodsmoke and polished wax. The walls were solid stone, and the ceiling stretched so high above their heads it vanished into darkness. Massive wrought-iron torches clung to the walls, casting a brilliant glare that chased away all the shadows. A grand marble staircase swept up in front of them, branching off in two directions, but Hagrid led them toward an adjacent corridor.
"Firs' years! Wait here!" Hagrid said, his voice dropping slightly but losing none of its commanding presence. He pointed to a spot in front of a pair of towering oak doors that looked as old as the castle itself, adorned with wrought-iron hinges shaped like coats of arms and mythical creatures. The heavy, dark wood gleamed under the torchlight. Behind these doors, a distant hum could be heard—a feast of voices and laughter that filled them with almost unbearable anticipation. It was the Great Hall.
Standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, waiting with a presence that radiated pure elegance and authority, was a tall, thin woman. She had a stern face and hair pulled back into a tight bun, with square-rimmed glasses framing piercing eyes. She wore an emerald-green velvet robe that swept the floor, giving her a regal air and an undeniable aura of power. In her hands, she held a roll of parchment.
The students' whispers died instantly. There was something about her posture that demanded absolute respect and attention.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said, bowing his massive head with a deference Akari hadn't seen from him yet.
Professor McGonagall gave a brisk nod, her gaze sweeping over the trembling first-years with an intensity that seemed to evaluate every single one of them. She lingered for just a second on Akari and Utahime, who stood huddled together, their nerves on edge.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall said, her voice crisp and precise, carrying a distinct Scottish brogue. It was a voice that commanded respect, a blend of strictness and a strange, underlying warmth. Her thin, straight lips barely moved as she spoke. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
Akari felt her heart race. This was the moment. This was the threshold. They were about to cross it and step fully into their new magical lives. Utahime, at her side, squeezed her hand with a slight tremor, but her eyes, though still a bit frightened, sparkled with the same expectation.
"In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates in the Great Hall," McGonagall continued, her voice unwavering. "But before you take your seats, you will be sorted into your Houses. The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are here at Hogwarts, your House will be something like your family."
Akari and Utahime exchanged a look. They had talked about the Houses, their hopes and fears. Akari, of course, leaned toward Gryffindor—her family's legacy—but now, with Utahime here and everything they'd just experienced, she felt a tiny pang of uncertainty. Utahime, on the other hand, just desperately wanted a place where she fit in, where she would be safe.
"During your time here, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose them," McGonagall explained, her eyes fixed on the students, catching every single reaction. "At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor."
The ensuing silence was heavy, loaded with expectation. Every eye was glued to the professor, hanging onto her every word.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few moments. I suggest you wait quietly." With those words, Professor McGonagall turned sharply and vanished through the massive oak doors.
The first-years were left standing there, a bundle of nerves in the grand entrance hall. The echoes from the Great Hall seemed to ring even louder now that they were alone, the promise of the Sorting hanging in the air like a magic-heavy fog. The whispering started up again, but this time it was more subdued, more anxious. Both girls pressed slightly closer to each other, their mutual support a silent vow in the dim light.
The tension in the hall was palpable, a cocktail of excitement and dread. Kids shifted restlessly, whispering to their neighbors. Some tried to smooth down their wrinkled robes with shaking hands; others chewed on their lips or wrung their hands together as if trying to squeeze out the nervous energy. Akari felt butterflies in her stomach—a mix of the looming Sorting and the adrenaline that still hadn't faded from the confrontation on the train. Utahime looked a little paler than usual, her large purple eyes dilated, hands clasped tightly in front of her in an unconscious display of anxiety. Her curiosity, however, still shone through as she watched the other students, trying to guess what was to come.
It was in that moment of nervous stillness, just as the chatter of the first-years began to pick up again, that a familiar, arrogant figure shoved his way into their line of sight. Satoru Gojo. He strolled over with an irritatingly careless swagger, moving with a surprising lightness for his height, acting like he owned the entire entrance hall. His immaculately white hair seemed to give off its own glow in the dim light, and his ice-blue eyes scanned the crowd with an innate cockiness, a brazen smirk stretching across his face.
Behind him, trailing with a calmer, almost brooding step and an expression of tightly leashed discomfort, was Suguru Geto. His dark eyes actively avoided Akari's gaze, and his lips, previously so quick to mock, were now pressed into a thin line, like the memory of Akari's dressing-down was still haunting him. Flanking them, sporting a faint smile, walked a girl with smooth, caramel-brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her sharp, dark brown eyes took everything in with calculating intelligence—a shrewd gaze that seemed to accurately weigh the worth of everyone around her. She was Shoko Ieiri. Even though her expression was relaxed, the easy way she moved between Satoru and Suguru was obvious; it was like they had formed their own exclusive little triumvirate. Akari recognized her from seeing her around important Ministry of Magic meetings with St. Mungo's Hospital. The girl's parents were two of the most respected Healers in the wizarding community. Their recent contributions had been vital for hundreds of sick wizards.
The way she leaned slightly toward Satoru and Suguru left the young brunette pretty confused; it gave the impression that she was a playmate, an active participant in their scheming. What a shame, Akari thought. She seemed different.
Satoru stopped right in front of them, his mocking smirk widening, more pronounced than before. His blue eyes locked onto Akari with blatant derision, completely ignoring Utahime's presence as if she were just a shadow, a piece of the background. He didn't care about her new friend; he only cared about the bold little girl who had dared to defy him on the train.
"So, here's Little Miss Meddler," Satoru drawled, his voice thick with disdain and loud enough to make several nearby students turn their heads, drawn by the obvious mockery in his tone. A quiet, cold, and calculated giggle slipped from Shoko's lips. She watched the scene with almost scientific curiosity, like she was waiting for an entertaining experiment to play out. "Who do you think you are, huh? Some fairy tale princess coming to save the poor, helpless peasants? That's not how things work around here, kid. There's an order to things. And you clearly don't know your place."
Akari's eyes narrowed. The anger she had been keeping a lid on since the train compartment began to boil over. Her jaw tightened and her body went rigid, squaring up for a fight. Utahime felt the shift in Akari's stance and squeezed her hand nervously, trying to send her silent support. She didn't want any more trouble, but Akari wasn't the type to back down from an injustice, and Satoru's attitude was a direct insult.
"And you clearly don't understand what basic decency means, or respect for others—not even for the people you don't care about!" Akari snapped back, her voice low and laced with a suppressed fury that was one second away from exploding. She was this close to reminding Satoru of her own surname, of the weight of the Kamo lineage, and putting him in his place exactly like she'd done to Suguru. Her blue eyes bore into Satoru's sapphire ones—a clash of wills that threw invisible sparks.
Just at that moment, before she could drop her family name or Satoru could shoot back another insult, a deep, heavy sound echoed through the hall. The massive oak doors to the Great Hall groaned open, swinging wide with a slow, majestic creak to reveal the breathtaking space hidden behind them.
Professor McGonagall reappeared on the threshold, her imposing figure silhouetted by the blinding, golden light spilling out from inside. Her face, stern before, now held an air of expectation, but her eyes were just as piercing.
"Move along, please!" McGonagall announced, her clear, authoritative voice instantly slicing through the tense silence and nipping the brewing fight in the bud. Her gaze flicked briefly to Satoru and Akari, one eyebrow twitching upward in an almost imperceptible warning—like she had instantly sensed the hostility between them.
Akari's chance to defend herself or reveal her name vanished into thin air, abruptly cut off by the professor's command. Satoru Gojo, his obnoxious smirk still plastered on his face, looked genuinely annoyed by the interruption. But McGonagall's sheer authority was something even he wouldn't dare challenge—at least, not right at this crucial moment. A flash of frustration crossed his blue eyes, but he quickly smoothed it over, defaulting back to his arrogant mask as if the interruption were nothing but a minor inconvenience.
Relieved by the break in tension and desperate to see the Great Hall, the mob of first-years started to surge forward like a river, flowing through the open doors. Akari and Utahime, their nerves completely frayed but fueled by fresh determination, let the current pull them along, their eyes fixed on the brilliance ahead. As they passed, Akari shot Satoru one last glare—a silent promise that they were far from done. Shoko Ieiri, flanking Satoru, watched the exchange with an impassive face, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. Suguru Geto quickly fell into step behind Satoru, his head ducked down to dodge any eye contact, his posture still carrying a hint of shame.
The Great Hall opened up before them, a spectacle that easily eclipsed everything they had seen so far. Akari and Utahime's eyes went round as saucers, their mouths falling open in mute shock. It wasn't just a dining room; it was a cathedral of magic. Thousands of candles floated weightlessly in mid-air, suspended high beneath an enchanted ceiling that didn't look like a ceiling at all, but rather a glittering night sky, identical to the one outside. It was dotted with twinkling stars and, faintly, the silver glow of a full moon filtering through wispy, dancing clouds. It felt like standing outdoors, but with the warmth and safety of being inside.
Four incredibly long wooden tables stretched across the vast hall, packed with hundreds of older students. Every table was jammed full, the students' faces glowing in the candlelight, creating a mosaic of uniforms repping the distinctive House colors: red and gold, green and silver, blue and bronze, and yellow and black. The hum of their chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates composed a lively symphony. At the top of the hall, another long table sat on a raised platform, occupied by the teachers—all imposing and enigmatic figures under the light. In the center of that table, an empty throne-like chair and an imposing figure, the Headmaster, waited.
Professor McGonagall led the first-years to the front of the Hall, down the aisle between the four long tables, halting them right in front of the staff table. There, a wobbly, three-legged wooden stool waited in the center. Sitting on top of it was a patched, filthy, incredibly ancient-looking wizard's hat lying completely motionless. The Sorting Hat. Akari felt a prickle at the base of her neck. This was it.
"When I call your name, you will come up and sit on the stool. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your Houses," McGonagall's voice cut cleanly through the silence that had suddenly blanketed the Great Hall—a silence heavy with anticipation.
Akari and Utahime grabbed each other's hands, a quiet sign of support as their eyes swept over the massive room. Utahime's eyes were as big as dinner plates, completely swept away by the grandeur of it all. Akari felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with a spike of fear. The choice was about to be made.
Professor McGonagall unrolled the parchment she had been carrying. The list of names, equally dreaded and eagerly awaited, was about to begin.
"Abbott, Hannah!" McGonagall read.
A blonde girl with pigtails, her face completely flushed red, stumbled out of line and up to the stool. The Sorting Hat slipped right down over her eyes, and after a brief pause, the Hat shouted:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The Hufflepuff table erupted into cheers and applause, with some students banging their hands and feet against the table to welcome their newest member. Looking immensely relieved, the girl sprinted over to join them.
And so it went, one by one. Bones, Susan (Hufflepuff), Boot, Terry (Ravenclaw), Brocklehurst, Mandy (Ravenclaw), Brown, Lavender (Gryffindor). The cheers and clapping bounced between the tables as each House celebrated its new additions. Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko, who were a little further up the line, listened to the names and Houses with expressions hovering somewhere between utter boredom and mild curiosity.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" called McGonagall. A nervous-looking boy with impeccably styled brown hair stepped up to the stool.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat.
Satoru, who had been chatting quietly with Suguru and Shoko, leaned forward slightly, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.
"Gojo, Satoru!" McGonagall announced clearly, and Satoru straightened up immediately. An arrogant smirk slid perfectly onto his face as he swaggered up to the stool. He sat down with outrageous confidence, acting like he already knew the outcome. The Sorting Hat barely brushed his white hair before the object itself bellowed across the Great Hall with undeniable satisfaction:
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table exploded into an ovation, louder and longer than any of the previous ones. The green-and-silver students banged on the table enthusiastically, some even jumping to their feet, their faces lit up with a sort of vicious triumph. Satoru hopped off the stool, flashing a victorious, condescending smirk at the entire room, and sauntered over to the Slytherin table, where he was immediately welcomed with pats on the back and conspiratorial laughter. Suguru and Shoko exchanged a look, and the dark-haired boy smiled, relief and pride washing over his features. Shoko, however, just gave a small nod, her gray eyes still carefully tracking Akari and Utahime.
"Geto, Suguru!" called McGonagall. Suguru stepped up to the stool, a flicker of hesitation on his face. The hat took a moment longer this time before shouting, with slightly less conviction than it had for Satoru:
"SLYTHERIN!"
The green-and-silver table cheered again, though with a fraction less fervor than before. Suguru hurried over to join Satoru, taking a seat next to him with a faint blush on his cheeks.
"Ieiri, Shoko!" A few scattered gasps of surprise went up from the Slytherin table. Shoko, however, approached the stool with an admirable sense of calm. The hat was dropped onto her head and, almost instantly, without a second's hesitation, it roared:
"SLYTHERIN!"
Shoko strolled over to the Slytherin table with that exact same composure, her enigmatic smile firmly in place. She slid into a seat beside Suguru and Satoru, acknowledging them with a barely perceptible nod.
The names kept coming. The list moved forward, and Akari and Utahime’s nerves stretched tighter with every passing second.
"Iori, Utahime!" When McGonagall called her name, Utahime flinched slightly, her face flushing a brilliant shade of red. Akari gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Utahime made her way to the stool with faltering steps. She sat down, and McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head, where it practically swallowed her whole. The silence stretched, thick and tense. Seconds ticked by, dragging on like minutes. The Hat seemed to hesitate, muttering things no one else could hear. Finally, with a breath that sounded almost like a lament, the Hat roared:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The Hufflepuff table, which until then had been clapping in a polite, rather academic manner, erupted into genuine cheers and applause. Utahime, wearing an expression of pure shock mingled with overwhelming relief, pulled the Hat off and hurried over to her table, where a group of Hufflepuff students immediately welcomed her with warm smiles and pats on the back. Before sitting down, her eyes sought out Akari, offering her a small, promising smile across the distance.
A pang of separation hit the young girl, though it was quickly soothed by relief for her friend. It was her turn now. Her heart hammered relentlessly against her ribs. She glanced at the dwindling line of first-years, and her gaze snagged on Gojo over at the Slytherin table. He was watching her with a mocking, utterly superior smirk, no doubt expecting yet another "inferior" fate for the little meddler.
"Kamo, Akari!" Akari’s name echoed through the Great Hall.
Whispers immediately rippled across the tables, particularly among the Gryffindors and Slytherins, where a few older students recognized the surname. Satoru, who had been busy chatting with Suguru and Shoko, completely froze. The petulant smirk wiped right off his face, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock—almost disbelief. His blue eyes, mocking just a second ago, went wide, locking onto Akari as if he were truly seeing her for the very first time.
Keeping her head held high, she marched up to the stool. She could feel Satoru's heavy stare on her, the complete shift in his demeanor, and a flicker of smug satisfaction bloomed in her chest. She climbed onto the stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head. The Hat, large and ancient, slipped down over her eyes, plunging her into instant darkness.
A raspy, ancient voice, sounding as though it were whispering directly into the very center of her mind, echoed in her ears.
"Ah, interesting. A Kamo. Well, well... Another Kamo. Yes, definitely another Kamo! There are already quite a few of you brave ones in this house! Or should I say... audacious to a fault? It’s not very common to see a Kamo quite so... hesitant? Or perhaps, defiant? Yes, defiant. A lot of courage here. A great deal of it. And a burning desire to prove yourself, to not be defined by your surname. Hmm, yes, very Gryffindor..."
A surge of warmth spread through Akari’s chest at the word "Gryffindor." It was exactly what her father expected, and exactly what she was desperately longing for.
"But I also see a sharp mind, a considerable intellect, a deep curiosity, and a cunning that could be... quite useful. Yes, a thirst for knowledge, to understand the world—to manipulate it, perhaps. You could do great things in Ravenclaw, or even in Slytherin, if you set your mind to it. A lot of potential in ambition, yes, so much potential..."
Akari furrowed her brow in the darkness. She didn't want Slytherin. Not even Ravenclaw. Not if it meant stepping away from the bravery she felt was supposed to be her guiding light. Her heart screamed for Gryffindor. Mentally, with every ounce of strength she possessed, she projected a thought right back at the Hat: Gryffindor! I want Gryffindor! I’m a Kamo, and I am brave!
The Hat actually seemed to vibrate against her head, as if weighing her sheer willpower. "Ah, willpower... a mighty trait, indeed. It’s clear that stubbornness runs in the blood. Also the audacity, the loyalty, the sheer daring... very well. If you are so certain of your path, then so be it. Let courage be your guide!"
And then, in a booming voice that rattled the stained-glass windows of the Great Hall, the Sorting Hat roared:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table exploded into a deafening roar of sheer approval and joy. It was a cacophony of cheers, wild applause, and fists pounding against the wooden tables—so loud that Akari could actually feel the vibrations shooting up through the stool. It was a roar of welcome, a chorus of a hundred voices taking her in.
Beaming, Akari pulled off the Sorting Hat, her heart practically overflowing with joy and absolute relief. She looked toward the Gryffindor table and immediately spotted her brother, Choso. He was already on his feet, his face entirely lit up by a massive, contagious grin, his arms waving in the air with a level of open emotion he rarely ever showed. He was shouting and clapping with unbridled euphoria, cheering as if his precious little sister had just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup.
She hopped off the stool and made her way over to the Gryffindor table with a light, bouncy step, though her gaze flickered briefly toward the Slytherins. She caught sight of the white-haired boy; he was still staring dead at her, his blue eyes still wide with shock. The mockery from before was entirely wiped clean from his features, replaced by an almost childish, baffled confusion. The sheer disbelief on his face was undeniable—almost comical, really. Akari flashed him a small, deeply victorious smirk before turning her back on him completely, fully facing her new House.
Her brother caught her in a loud, wildly enthusiastic hug that literally lifted her off her feet for a second. "I knew it! I knew it, little Kamo! You’re a true-blooded Gryffindor! Welcome home!" His voice was rough with emotion.
The young girl laughed, soaking in the warmth of her brother’s embrace and the chaotic thunder of the table surrounding her. She was home.
The list of names slowly continued, and Akari, now comfortably seated among the rowdy Gryffindors, settled in to watch.
"Tsukumo, Yuki!" Professor McGonagall announced.
A girl with straight, dark-blonde hair stepped up to the stool, carrying herself with an air of calm confidence and an undeniable, striking presence. The Sorting Hat had barely even grazed the top of her head.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat roared with immediate, unshakable conviction.
The Gryffindor table erupted all over again, and Yuki, wearing a serene smile, strolled over to join them. Akari watched her, and to her surprise, Yuki made a beeline straight for the empty spot right next to her—right beside Choso. She slid into the seat in one fluid motion, her eyes meeting Akari’s.
"Hey," Yuki said. Her voice was steady and pitched a little low, but it held a palpable warmth. Her smile was genuine, and her dark, almost pitch-black eyes carried a depth that Akari immediately found intriguing. "Akari, right? I’m Yuki. Looks like we’re going to be Housemates!"
Akari beamed back, holding out a hand in welcome. "Yeah, Akari. Nice to meet you, Yuki!" A fresh wave of camaraderie washed over her. She had a friend over in Hufflepuff, and now, a brand new Housemate here in Gryffindor.
"Ryomen, Sukuna!" McGonagall’s voice echoed once more.
A boy with pitch-black hair strode toward the stool, his expression radiating absolute, arrogant disinterest. His red eyes gleamed with a cold intensity, and his entire posture oozed a calculated confidence—an aura of innate power that felt completely out of place on a first-year.
The Sorting Hat was dropped onto his head, and before even two seconds had passed, the Hat’s voice boomed out with a deep, almost gloomy resonance:
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table responded with the most deafening standing ovation of the entire night—louder, even, than Satoru Gojo’s had been. Shouts of approval and wild cheers rattled the Great Hall. Ryomen stood up from the stool. His face remained completely impassive, save for a glint of cold satisfaction in those red eyes as he stalked over to the Slytherin table, where he was greeted with an almost palpable reverence by the older students. He took his seat, his gaze locking onto Gojo’s for just a fraction of a second.
There was no friendly smile exchanged; just a mutual acknowledgment, a silent spark of understanding between two dominant forces.
The Sorting Ceremony dragged on for a few more minutes until the very last student was assigned their House. Finally, Professor McGonagall rolled up the heavy parchment and retreated to the High Table. The Great Hall, now absolutely buzzing with the lingering cheers and the electric anticipation of a brand new school year, was finally ready for the feast to begin.