Hogwarts Castle rises before you, its towers cutting jagged silhouettes against the twilight sky. Thousands of windows glow amber and gold, scattered across the ancient stone like stars brought down to earth. The sight of it stirs something in your chest—a mixture of awe and wariness. You have heard stories, of course. Every magical child has.

But stories cannot prepare you for the weight of it, the sheer presence of the place.

Nearby, a cluster of Hogwarts students climb out of their own carriage, their voices carrying through the cooling air. A tall boy with red hair nearly trips over his own feet, earning a snort of laughter from a bushy-haired girl beside him. A smaller boy with dark hair and round glasses follows close behind, his green eyes scanning the courtyard with an alertness that seems out of place among the casual chatter.

A few heads turn in your direction. Whispers ripple outward like stones dropped into still water.

Ahead, the entrance hall stretches wide and inviting, its torchlit corridors branching off in multiple directions. The sound of hundreds of chattering voices echoes from within the Great Hall. Polished stone floors reflect the flickering light. Ancient suits of armor stand at attention along the walls.

A tall woman with her dark hair pulled into a severe bun stands near the entrance, her emerald-green robes stark against the grey stone. She holds a roll of parchment and observes the arriving students with sharp, assessing eyes. Professor McGonagall, you recognize from the photographs in the informational packet.