Chapter 13: Where Dreams Begin
At some point the rain stopped.
Clouds thinned and split, and the last of the sunset slid in from the west, washing the carriage in a mellow orange glow. Outside the window, the outline of the Scottish Highlands began to take shape, dark green ridges rising and falling in the deepening twilight.
A gentle female voice sounded over the train, announcing their arrival and asking students to gather their belongings and prepare to disembark.
Regulus closed his notebook and slipped it back into his robes.
The Hogwarts Express ate up the distance with steady urgency, wheels beating a rhythmic pattern against the rails, a relentless clack clack, clack clack that seemed to echo in the bones.
They arrived precisely at seven o clock.
The platform at Hogsmeade Station was wrapped in cold, wet air. Stars crowded the sky above, and though there was no moon, the starlight was bright enough to pick out bobbing heads, drifting breath, and the thin white mist that rose from the ground like smoke that had forgotten how to burn.
The scent was different here. Earth and pine needles, damp stone and distant water, and under it all the faint, unmistakable breath of magic.
"First years, over here!"
The booming call rolled across the platform. Regulus moved with the crowd, stepping down from the train into the press of bodies and noise.
Older students flowed away at once, surging towards the waiting carriages in an impatient tide. The first years clustered instead around a towering figure holding a lantern.
Rubeus Hagrid stood there like a moving hill, lantern light painting his thick beard copper and catching a friendly, earnest smile beneath it. He looked entirely too large to fit into any normal world, wizarding or otherwise.
"Come on then, kids," Hagrid called. "Follow me. Watch your step."
Regulus joined the line as it began to descend a steep, narrow path.
They walked into dense woods where the darkness swallowed most colour. The stones underfoot were slick, and the only things clearly visible were the shifting outlines of robes ahead and the lantern's glow swinging in Hagrid's hand.
They rounded a bend.
The trees parted.
A vast lake lay before them, black and still, its surface so calm it looked like polished glass reflecting the star filled sky. Mist hovered low over the water, and beyond the shore, high on the cliff, stood Hogwarts Castle.
Towers and turrets cut into the night like a forest of stone. Warm yellow light glowed from the windows, scattered points like stars caught and trapped behind ancient walls. The castle shimmered faintly under the starlight, solemn and immense, like a legend that had been waiting patiently to be entered.
The first years gasped as one. Someone whispered. Someone else grabbed a friend's sleeve as if they feared the sight might vanish if they let go.
Regulus stood at the lake's edge and looked up.
He had read descriptions of Hogwarts for years. He had built it in his mind piece by piece, a castle assembled from ink and imagination.
The real thing made every description feel inadequate.
It was a dream.
And it was where the dream began.
"No more than four to a boat," Hagrid called, hauling the line back to reality. He pointed towards a row of small wooden boats tethered along the shore. There were no oars. They rocked softly as if breathing.
First years began to climb in, some with excitement, others with pale, tight faces. Regulus stepped into a boat with three boys he did not know.
One was red haired, freckle faced, and looked as though he had been dragged out of bed and washed in a hurry. A Weasley, perhaps. Another had dark hair and a nervous expression, eyes flicking everywhere at once. The third was blond and kept adjusting his collar as if it were strangling him.
The boat glided away at once, silent as thought.
The water beneath them was ink black and seemed bottomless. Slow shadows moved under the surface, too large to belong to any ordinary fish. Once, something broke the surface and a cold glint flashed in the starlight before sinking again.
"That's the giant squid," the red haired boy whispered, voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. "My brother says it doesn't hurt anyone. He says it even saves little wizards who fall in."
The boat rocked suddenly. All three boys grabbed the sides. Regulus remained steady, gaze angled down at the dark water as he watched the drifting shadows and the stars reflected below, sky inside the lake and lake inside the sky.
Then he looked back up at the castle growing larger with every silent yard.
Behind those bright windows were scenes he could already picture. Four long House tables, chatter and laughter, plates and cutlery catching candlelight. Professors gathered at the High Table, speaking in low voices with the comfort of people who believed the castle could swallow any danger whole.
And at the end of the hall, on a wooden stool, the Sorting Hat would be waiting.
They reached the far shore. The boat bumped softly against the landing and stopped.
Regulus climbed out with the others and followed the line up a flight of stone steps to a massive oak door. Hagrid raised his fist and knocked three times.
The door swung inward.
Professor McGonagall stood just inside, framed by torchlight. Deep green robes fell in crisp lines. Her hair was drawn into a severe bun. Her expression looked as though she were about to preside over a trial rather than welcome children.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, voice clear and composed, carrying down the stone corridor. "Before you enter the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony, there are a few things you must understand."
The first years formed a tight cluster and listened as she explained the House system, the House Cup, and the rules of discipline, her tone sharp enough to cut through nerves.
Regulus listened. He also watched.
Through the gap of the open doors, the Great Hall breathed light and noise. Thousands of candles floated overhead, their flames steady in mid air. Students sat at four long tables, silverware shining, robes blending into living colour.
Scarlet and gold. Yellow and black. Blue and bronze. Green and silver.
At the High Table, Albus Dumbledore sat at the centre, half moon spectacles catching the candlelight. His blue eyes moved over the room with a gentle, quietly amused patience. Beside him sat Horace Slughorn, round and rosy, smiling at the bustle as though it were all his personal collection.
Filius Flitwick perched on a high chair, animated in conversation. Pomona Sprout looked kindly and solid beside him.
Regulus's gaze shifted to the Slytherin table. The students there sat with careful restraint, many of them wearing expressions that suggested they had been practising dignity in mirrors since childhood.
At the Gryffindor table, James Potter sat upright, eyes fixed on the door as if he wanted to pounce the moment the first years appeared.
Sirius sat near him, not watching the entrance. He was speaking to Remus instead, face turned slightly away, posture casual in a way that still managed to look defiant.
Not far off, Lily Evans was talking excitedly to a dark haired girl beside her, her hands moving as she spoke.
"Now," Professor McGonagall said, "form a single line and follow me."
Robes were straightened. Hands wiped discreetly against fabric. A sniffling girl ended up in front of Regulus, and a boy behind him shivered so hard his teeth clicked together.
They entered.
Hundreds of eyes turned on them at once. Whispers rose and fell like surf. Curiosity, judgement, anticipation, and the occasional disdain pressed against the first years like invisible fingers.
Regulus walked calmly, eyes forward.
At the front of the hall, Professor McGonagall stopped beside a tall stool. On it sat a battered, patched wizard's hat.
It twitched.
A rip near the brim widened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.
Its voice was old and rasping, and the song spoke of the founders and their Houses, of the traits each valued and the choices that would shape seven years.
Regulus listened, but his thoughts drifted.
He saw again James's shocked expression in the compartment. Remus's quiet awe. Peter's terrified flinch. He remembered how Sirius had not spoken to him, how Sirius had looked through him.
He thought of the stars outside the train window, steady and indifferent.
The song ended. Applause filled the hall.
Professor McGonagall unrolled a long parchment.
"When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and put on the Sorting Hat."
The first name rang out. A trembling girl stepped forward. The hat dropped over her eyes. After a few seconds it shouted, "Hufflepuff!"
The Hufflepuff table exploded into applause.
Names followed. Houses followed. One after another, the line shortened.
Regulus waited.
"Regulus Black!"
The whispering swelled instantly. Even Muggle born students knew the name, if only because last year Sirius Black had shattered five hundred years of family tradition by being Sorted into Gryffindor.
Everyone wanted to see where the younger Black would go.
Regulus stepped forward, sat on the stool, and kept his expression neutral.
Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
It was heavy. It blocked his vision and swallowed candlelight.
Then a small voice spoke directly into his mind.
"Hmm. Another Black. Intelligent, very intelligent. Far more mature than most your age. And what is this? Not power, not glory. You are looking further. Much further."
Regulus kept his thoughts steady and carefully quiet.
"Ravenclaw would suit that mind, and you do not lack courage either. But you need knowledge, you need tools, you need… yes. Better be…"
The hat drew in a breath and shouted, "Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table erupted.
Regulus heard cheers, enthusiastic and sharp. Rabastan Lestrange led them loudly, and Avery and Mulciber clapped as well, though their eyes were not simple.
Boos rose from Gryffindor, led by James, who looked as though the outcome had personally offended him. Sirius did not join in. Sirius stayed silent.
Regulus stood, lifted the hat away, and walked to the green and silver table.
He sat beside Rabastan.
"Welcome," Rabastan said, grinning.
"Thank you," Regulus replied.
Hands reached out one after another. Slytherins introduced themselves in murmurs and measured smiles, each handshake a small assessment.
The Sorting continued behind him. Regulus watched familiar names sent to their places, watched faces change as the Hat decided futures with a single word.
But his attention drifted upward.
The ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the night sky outside, enchanted into a perfect mirror of the heavens. The Milky Way arced overhead, thick with stars, impossibly deep.
Regulus looked at it, and for a moment the castle, the tables, the whispers, even the war creeping closer all felt smaller than that vast, glittering river of light.