First years clustered together, wide-eyed and nervous, while older students chatted and laughed, already settled into their houses.

You felt the weight of hundreds of eyes as you followed the other trembling eleven-year-olds toward the staff table.

A stern witch in emerald robes stood holding a scroll and a patched, ancient hat upon a stool.

Your name echoed off the stone walls.

The walk to the stool felt miles long. You sat, the worn fabric dropped over your eyes, and a whisper tickled your ear.

Across the hall, a table of green and silver watched. A pale blond boy with sharp features whispered to the dark-haired boy beside him, both smirking.