prologue
M O R A E A
When I wake up, the compartment is still empty.
I had dosed off during the ride, the side of my head uncomfortably resting on the icy surface of the window. My hand immediately reaches my head, more precisely the part where my hair laid flat on the surface of the glass, in a desperate attempt to flatten it. I let out a breath of relief only when I make sure no real damage is done to the side-swept braid I departed with. My mother's always told me that my dark brown hair, with no warmth in it, should be promptly kept in a braid on important occasions. For her, this signified elegance at the same time as it showed a sense of identity.
I hear the distant sound of high pitched voices, which leads me to believe the chaos I witnessed at platform 9 3/4 hasn't come to its end yet.
I take a few tentative steps towards the door of my compartment and stop to take a peak from the window. I spot what I assume to be a trolley a few compartments down towards the back of the train, and supposedly the reason for all the commotion. What leaves me perplexed is the state of the trolley—completely empty. I watch as it's led out of a compartment by an elderly lady, very sweet by the looks of her rosy cheeks and soft smile. Instead of continuing to the front of the train, she turns backwards and leads the empty trolley away. Some displeased kids either follow the trolley or stare it down as it leaves.
A group of kids who looked to be around my age are headed towards the opposite direction to that of the trolley. I stay still as they come closer to my compartment, not tearing away my eyes from the window. The slender boy at the front of the group reaches my window first. He has a pale, pointed face and sleek blond hair. He met my eyes for a second, and something flashed in his gaze. He squints his eyes and mumbles something to the group, to which they laugh rather uncomfortably. Another blonde stops before my window and peers in. I spot a few freckles on her cheeks and nose as she scrunches up her nose at the sight of me.
"What do you want?" I ask, raising my voice more than usual in order for her to hear me through the glass.
I don't expect it when she opens the door and motions for her group to follow.
"I want you to leave, if that's fine with you." She says through a giggle as they all take seats in my compartment. I manage to sit down before the last one—the boy from earlier. All of them except the blonde girl avoid confrontation by making sure to look at anything else other than me. I'm pretty sure one even mutters a "sorry".
I stay rooted to my seat as the boy waits for me to offer my place. "I'm not going anywhere." I let him know.
"Come on, Draco! She can't do anything." The girl urges him on. She seems the only one here, safe for me, who isn't about to piss their pants.
"Yeah. Get up." The boy repeats with more courage than before.
My hand slowly finds its way to my wand hidden on the inside of my robe. My fingers skim over it lightly but ready to snatch it if the time comes. "Or what? You'll go cry to mommy?" I taunt him.
The kids around us, the blonde girl included, laugh and Draco shoots them a glare that shuts them up. "I'll hex you!", he threatens them, then turns to me; "You too, so you better stand up right now!"
I feign fright as I jump on my feet. They cheer him on and he bares his teeth in a winner's smile. From the corner of my eye, I notice the blonde girl eyeing me intensely. "See? Too easy for me, Daphne", he sneers.
Once he turns back to face me, my wand is already pointing towards him. He doesn't have time to scream before white light shoots out and meets its target. His feet immediately slip as if the floor is covered in butter and he falls on his ass. Some gasp while others like Daphne laugh uncontrollably. I sit back and watch with amusement as Draco struggles to get to his feet.
"Nice one," the Daphne girl nods in my direction, somewhat questioning.
"Moraea." I tell her my name.
I don't speak much until the rest of the ride, but make sure to listen to the blabber—the center of it mainly being Draco.
•••
The boat ride came at last. I end up in the same boat as a boy and two girls I haven't seen prior to now. They keep whispering to each other in between subtle stares at me, but soon enough their conversation developed into a discussion about some toad, Trevor, that had apparently been lost during the ride. The boy in front of me seems fairly distressed about it. My guess is that he's the owner of Trevor.
I choose to focus instead on the rippling sound of the lake water. I notice the reflection of the half frightened, half amused, awestruck students and follow their gaze, only to get my first glimpse of the magnificent castle that was realing itself up ahead, that was to be my home for the next seven years.
All conversations die down the more the castle comes into view. Everyone seems to acknowledge the seriousness and importance of the magical education we were about to receive. How could they not, it looks like something taken straight out of a fairy tail. Like once I get close enough to actually touch it, it will disappear between my fingers as if it had never existed. We marvel at the beauty that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is.
And I wonder what was to come. The sight in front of me signifies so many possibilities.
Soon after the pacifying journey, we're lined up in front of a lady with robes similar to ours, who wore her grey hair up in a tight bun. She has sharp eyes that bore into the students, scanning them for incorrect behavior. I'm at the front of the crowd, so the woman was sure to notice me first.
I could swear I saw the teacher's eyes linger on me for a moment too long. Paranoia immediately followed, thinking she knows something about me she isn't supposed to know.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.
The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."
The professor eyes a boy as he's nervously trying to flatten his black hair.
Not only did he not succeed, he even ends up colliding his elbow with the side of my head, the part previously resting on the window. I flinch away, bringing my hand up to examine the damage.
He quickly directs his attention to me. "Sorry!" He says sheepishly with apologetic eyes. "Are you alright?"
My hand lets go of my head and I nod. Still, I imagine the possibility of a red bump decorating my head for days to come, and the stinging sensation doesn't make matters better.
"My name is Harry, by the way." The boy who I assume to still be guilty tells me.
I look to my right, towards him, but I'm too distracted by the ginger boy gaping at me from behind Harry to introduce myself.
Next to him, all the kids look confused and scared. For the first time since the beginning of this journey I realize what I'm getting myself into. Creeps run up my spine—none of the kids here know who I really am. And if they knew, if they find out, they would all want me dead. Because who will ever want to have anything to do with the daughter of the most haunted man in the wizarding world?
Several people behind me scream.
About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glide across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at us. They seem to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance --"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights suddenly notices us.
Nobody answers. I look around, only to find the students petrified. I smile a little from amusement alas much to my bad luck Harry and the redhead see me.
They look at me like I was mental.
"New students!" exclaims the Fat Friar, smiling around at us. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nod mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now," says a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."
The lady with piercing eyes has returned. One by one, the ghosts float away through the opposite wall.
We reform a line and follow the lady. Through a pair of double doors, we enter the biggest hall I have seen in my 11 years of life. The place is strange, yet magical. Just like my mother's stories, the ceiling resembles a night sky glittered by stars. They shine as brightly as hope on a dark and stormy day.
I tear my eyes away from the ceiling at the sound of the teacher's voice. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she looks at the parchment in her hands.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, puts on the hat, which falls right down over her eyes, and sits down. A moments pause - "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat. The table on the right is cheering and clapping as Hannah goes to sit down at the Hufflepuff table.
I see the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table with blue decor, second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws even stand up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.
At one point, I tune out. I try to figure out the importance the choice of the hat has. My mother had always spoken to me about her house, Ravenclaw, and how proud she was to be one. She spoke of fellow Ravenclaws like they were family, and of the other houses like neighbors—neither close nor too distant.
No matter how small I try to make it, this one moment will determine everything. This one decision. And who holds that power? A goddamn hat.
"Riddle," The professor chokes out. "Riddle, Moraea." The low tone of voice in which she called was unusual, compared to the previous high volume. Everyone seems to notice. The Great Hall, full of kids, is now dead silent.
Maintaining some dignity, I walk up towards the stool. I have no idea what the intentions of this hat are and I eye it with hostility as it's perched atop my head.
I almost fall down when I hear a voice resonating inside my head.
Finally! A second Riddle. I wonder if I'll be able to solve this one...
The voice feels heavy. I try not to think about the first Riddle that must have went through the same, just about 50 years ago. I try not to think of this same hat being in contact with him.
Aha... I see some quite the dark history behind you, dear. Strong you are, indeed. I suppose I should send you on the same path as Riddle, see where that takes you...
"No!" I whisper while trying to make my voice authoritative. The hat seems to have read my thoughts or memories, so I pray that it can hear me when I think. Ravenclaw. Or Hufflepuff. Anything that's not his house. Please.
Ah, a spirited one, aren't we? Already so keen on making your own choice... A girl of a wild rose—yet a humble Ravenclaw, to whom survival is an art. Gryffindor would suit you quite nicely, perhaps? Bravery courses through your veins with the power of a forest blaze, yet I sense a different yearning within you.
My veins were starting to throb with the anticipation. I felt my hand scratching the other in a pathetic attempt to ease the overflow of emotion spiraling inside me. I'm not a Slytherin. I'm not. I'm smart, I would risk my life for a loved one and risk it to avenge one. My eyes flicker towards the blue table, where my instincts told me would be a safe bet. I don't seek power or cunning plots. I just want—wanted—to protect those I care about.
The Sorting Hat, as if responding to my inner turmoil, continued.
Yet, bravery comes in many forms, not just the lion's roar, doesn't it? Slytherin, too, has its heroes—those who navigate shadows with loyalty and cleverness. Are you willing to discover the strength in subtlety, the power in alliances unexpected?
I hesitate, uncertainty now clouding my judgment. The Hat whispered, Remember, the choice is yours, and wherever you go, your destiny will always unfold.
"Slytherin!"
As the green and silver colors embrace me, my breathing becomes increasingly more incoherent and rapid. I don't belong in Slytherin, I think vehemently, my gaze wavering from the navy fabric to the green one. This has to be a mistake.
The hall held its breath for a moment as I, my heart heavy, make my way to the table cloaked in emerald green. It feels as though the world was tilted on its axis as I realize something unimaginable just became my reality for the next 7 years. My hearing is too distorted by the buzzing in my years to hear it as I see kids from the Slytherin table, my table, bringing their hands together in cheers. I make sure so spare one last look behind my shoulder in case the hat has changed its mind and my grey eyes meet those of the tall, thin and very old man I recognize—the only person in this massive hall who I’m familiar with. He has a crooked nose and a long silver beard, wears a long purple cloak and half-moon spectacles that hold the intelligence of his frightened blue eyes.
In fact, the headmaster radiates dread in every possible way. When he sees me staring, he offers me a court nod and holds up his toast.
My legs give up on me and I fall down on my chair. Something tells me this hat did either just sign the wizarding world's death certificate as we know it, or mark the beginning of something new.
Something we should all be afraid of.
