Hogsmeade Station buzzed with the chaotic energy of returning students. First-years, wide-eyed and clutching parchment lists, were immediately swallowed by the crowd. Older students moved with practiced ease, weaving through the press of bodies, calling out greetings to friends they hadn't seen all summer.

A towering figure emerged from the steam, lantern raised high. Hagrid's voice boomed over the noise, cutting through the chatter like a foghorn.

The path down to the boats was slick with recent rain. The Great Hall's windows glowed golden in the distance, a warm beacon against the encroaching twilight. Lanterns bobbed along the lake shore as first-years clambered nervously into the small boats, Hagrid checking each one with a practiced eye.

The castle loomed, vast and ancient, its towers cutting sharp silhouettes against the fading sky. Inside, the Entrance Hall was already filling, torches casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The murmur of hundreds of voices bounced off the vaulted ceiling.

At the staff table, Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. He watched the students stream in with a quiet, knowing smile—as though he could already see the year unfolding, every twist still to come.