The grey heir

The train hissed to a stop, steam curling like white smoke over the tracks. The compartment doors slid open with a clatter, and voices filled the corridor.

Harry stepped out quietly, Iskaris coiled beneath his robes, Hedwig safely perched in her cage under a Disillusionment Charm. The mask of Evan Blake still rested over his name. He adjusted his cloak and descended with the stream of first-years.

The night air was thick with mist and the scent of pine. Lanterns floated above the platform in soft golden orbs.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years this way!"

Hagrid's booming voice rang out over the chaos.

Harry approached slowly, just behind Daphne Greengrass. Her composure remained flawless, unbothered by the damp or the noise. Neville Longbottom stumbled to catch up, clutching Trevor and his trunk with awkward steps.

Hagrid spotted Harry and gave him a warm grin. "Knew we'd see you again. Bit quieter than the rest, eh? Come along, this way now."

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Another girl joined their group—shorter than Daphne, with sharp grey eyes and a measured step. Her presence was more deliberate than shy.

"I'm Tracey Davis," she said to Daphne.

"Greengrass," Daphne replied. "This is Evan."

Tracey turned her gaze to Harry. "Your snake still with you?"

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "How did you know about that?"

Tracey shrugged lightly. "I hear things. And you have the kind of look that says you don't walk into places alone."

Harry offered a faint smile. "He's not fond of crowds."

"I can respect that."

The group walked in silence behind Hagrid down the lantern-lit path that wound through the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The soft hooting of owls mingled with the crunch of boots on gravel.

"Boat ride," Hagrid announced, gesturing to the lake where dozens of small boats bobbed beside the dock. "Four to a boat!"

Harry, Daphne, Tracey, and Neville stepped into one.

The boats drifted away, gliding silently across the lake's dark waters. Lanterns glowed at their prows, reflections shimmering over the waves.

No one spoke for a while. The air smelled of mist and magic.

Then Daphne broke the silence. "My father said the Black Lake was once called the Mirrorwater. Some say the founders enchanted it to reflect your truest nature, if you stare long enough."

Tracey scoffed softly. "That sounds like something Rowena Ravenclaw would say."

Neville leaned over to look, nearly toppling the boat. "I don't see anything different."

"You're not meant to," Daphne said, watching him kindly. "Not yet."

Harry stared out at the vast expanse, watching the reflections of torchlight shimmer across the water's skin.

"The water keeps its secrets," he murmured.

Tracey gave him a thoughtful glance. "And do you?"

He met her eyes. "All the time."

The castle rose into view, towering and timeless. Its many turrets reached into the sky like fingers grasping starlight. Light spilled from the windows, welcoming and foreboding in equal measure.

Neville gasped. "It's… it's huge."

Daphne looked unimpressed. "Old magic rarely shows off."

Tracey nodded. "But this place is different. It hums."

Harry said nothing. His fingers brushed the Peverell ring beneath his cloak. The castle pulsed faintly in his blood—like something waking, recognizing him.

The boats reached the far shore. Hagrid offered a hand to those who needed it, helping them onto the dock.

"Up the path now," he called. "The castle's waitin'."

Harry stepped forward.

The chill night wind carried whispers from the trees.

And Hogwarts watched.