The rain followed them to Hogsmeade.
It clung to the train windows as students scrambled for cloaks and tried to remember the school's name for waterproofing charms. The clouds overhead weren't the soft grey of autumn drizzle—they were low, brooding, like something ancient stirring above the mountains.
Rowan Weasley felt the weight of the weather as he stepped off the train. It settled on his shoulders like a second robe.
"Firs' years! This way!" came a booming voice.
Hagrid stood near the edge of the platform, towering and broad as a castle wall, his lantern glowing through the mist. Ron was craning his neck to get a better look at the half-giant. Rowan already knew who he was. He'd memorized the Hogwarts staff list the moment it arrived.
They followed Hagrid down a winding path that grew narrower with each step. The trees here weren't like those near the Burrow—these were older, rooted deep and high, with branches that reached out like arms ready to embrace or ensnare. The path bent once, twice—and then the view struck.
Hogwarts.
The castle rose out of the dark water like a dream given form—spires and towers and windows blazing with amber light. For a long moment, the group of first-years just stood, soaked and silent, faces tipped skyward in reverence.
But Rowan didn't look up. Not at the whole of the castle.
His eyes were on a single window near the top of the Astronomy Tower—where a flicker of blue flame danced.
As if someone had just burned a letter.
Across the Lake
The boats rocked gently across the black water. Four students per boat. No sails. No oars. Just silent enchantment and the glow of lanterns reflected in the still surface.
Rowan sat with Ron, Hermione Granger, and a wide-eyed boy named Neville who clutched a toad like it was the only solid thing in the world.
Hermione was talking fast—about spells she'd read, books she'd studied, famous witches and wizards she wanted to meet. Ron nodded occasionally, clearly overwhelmed.
Rowan said nothing.
But he listened.
He noted the way Hermione said "Alohomora" as if she were unlocking the future itself. He noted how Neville whispered to his toad, almost as though it could understand. He even noticed that Ron, for all his grumbling, sat straighter when she spoke.
Interesting.
As the boats passed under the shadow of the cliffs, a soft thrum pulsed through the water—so faint most wouldn't notice. Rowan felt it in his ribs.
A ward. Ancient. A magical boundary being crossed.
He closed his eyes and felt it.
Like stepping through the skin of the world.
The Entrance Hall
The doors to Hogwarts opened with a slow, thunderous creak.
Candles flickered to life overhead. Stone walls rose into high archways. The air smelled of wax, parchment, and magic so old it had weight. A tall woman with sharp eyes and tartan robes stood waiting at the top of the steps.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, her voice clipped but not unkind. "In a few moments, you will be Sorted into your Houses. Until then, remain quiet, respectful, and try not to trip on the stairs."
She swept inside, leaving the first-years buzzing with nerves.
Rowan stood still as stone.
He didn't care about the Sorting.
Not in the way the others did. Not because he didn't respect it—but because he'd already seen it happen in his mind. He'd watched the Hat bend toward his thoughts and whisper a name.
Ravenclaw.
There was no question. He didn't want glory like Gryffindor, or cunning like Slytherin. He didn't crave order like Hufflepuff.
He wanted the questions no one dared ask.
And more importantly—he wanted answers.
The Great Hall
They entered under the flickering candlelight, past the four long tables filled with whispering students. Rowan caught glimpses of silver and green, gold and red, yellow and black—but his eyes were on the far side of the hall.
On the staff table.
Dumbledore sat at the center, his silver beard glimmering, eyes twinkling as though he already knew who had read his secret letter and burned it by wandlight.
Rowan didn't look away.
Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow.
And smiled.
Then the Hat was placed on the stool, and the Sorting began.
"Granger, Hermione."
The Hat barely touched her head. "Gryffindor!"
Applause.
"Longbottom, Neville."
A long pause. The Hat frowned—if it had a face. Then: "Gryffindor!"
"Malfoy, Draco."
"Slytherin!" before it even sat straight.
"Potter, Harry."
A long silence. The room held its breath.
Rowan felt something ripple through the air. The Hat was fighting with Harry. Not resisting—but testing.
"…Gryffindor!"
The cheer was deafening.
Then: "Weasley, Ronald."
Ron nearly tripped on his way up. The Hat chuckled before it touched his head.
"Hmm. Plenty of nerve. Bit of doubt. But oh—yes. Like your brothers. Better be… Gryffindor!"
Rowan waited.
Then: "Weasley, Rowan."
A murmur passed through the crowd. Most hadn't known Ron had a twin. But now all eyes were on the quiet boy with storm-grey eyes and a wand of ash.
He walked calmly to the stool and sat.
The Hat dropped over his brow—and everything fell away.
Inside the Sorting Hat
"Well now," said a voice, smooth and ancient. "A very interesting mind…"
Rowan said nothing. He had already prepared for this.
"You've seen things, haven't you?" the Hat mused. "Not just clever—attuned. Curious. Structured. And yet, something wild beneath it. Dangerous."
"I know what I want," Rowan said softly.
"Do you? That's rarer than you think."
"I want the questions others are afraid of."
"You could thrive in Slytherin, you know. Power. Protection. Access."
"I want the truth."
The Hat paused. "Then… best be—RAVENCLAW!"
The Ravenclaw table clapped politely. A few students leaned over to whisper. Rowan didn't hear them. He walked to the table, sat beside a girl with dark curls and large glasses, and took in the whole Hall from his new vantage point.
He saw Harry trying to get Ron to eat.
He saw Snape lean forward to whisper to Quirrell.
And he saw Dumbledore, watching him with calm interest.
Later That Night – Ravenclaw Tower
The common room was unlike anything Rowan had imagined.
No paintings of wizards posing with goblets. No stuffed chairs. No chaos.
It was all marble and moonlight. High windows curved into the night sky. A domed ceiling painted with constellations that shimmered as the stars turned. Books lined the walls—not just spellbooks, but tomes on magical theory, runes, philosophy, transmutation, magical logic, and the theoretical ethics of time travel.
Rowan stood in the middle of it, breathless.
"This is it," said a tall girl with sharp eyes. "Home of the brainiacs."
She held out a hand. "Tess Belby. Second year. If you ask nicely, the books won't bite."
"Rowan," he replied. "First year. And I don't mind if they bite."
She grinned. "You'll fit right in."
Midnight – The First Clue
While the rest of the tower slept, Rowan was awake—again.
The enchanted stone in his pocket had grown warm. He followed it—not physically, but magically. He held it in one hand, wand in the other, and let the pull guide him.
It didn't lead out of the tower. It didn't lead to the forest.
It led… to a wall.
A section near the back of the common room, just between two bookshelves. Ordinary at first glance.
Rowan ran his fingers over the stone.
A click.
Then silence.
Then—the stone vibrated once, sharply.
And then stopped.
He knelt, placed the stone flat against the wall—and a single rune appeared in the stone.
Eiwaz.
The same one from the letter.
Rowan smiled faintly.
The castle knows.
He pressed his hand to the rune.
Nothing happened.
But he had the sense—deep, certain—that it had registered him.
And that was enough.
For now.