One moment there had been a screech of tires—a flash of headlights—a blaring horn. The next, nothing but a soft, cool breeze and the distant murmur of childish voices.

Y/n blinked.

They were sitting on a hillside. The sun was low, casting long, golden shadows across rolling green fields. Below, a vast, dark lake shimmered in the evening light. And beyond it, rising from a rocky cliff like something out of a dream, stood a castle. Towers. Turrets. Windows glowing warm amber.

Hogwarts.

Y/n was wearing robes. Unfamiliar, black, and slightly too large. A small brown bag sat on the grass beside them, along with a peculiar, unremarkable pencil that seemed to hum with a strange, faint warmth.

The boats were waiting at the shore. The children were being herded toward them, chattering excitedly.

Y/n looked down at themselves. Third-year robes. Unsorted. A bag with a wand and a pouch of coins. A pencil portkey engraved with the word "house."

There was no one else on the hill.

Just them. And the castle. And a decision to make.