"We do not build castles to keep the enemy out. We build them to keep the magic in." — Rowena Ravenclaw, Architectural Notes
September 1, 1969, Hogsmeade Station.
The train slowly surrendered its momentum to the night.
The rhythmic thrum of the runes faded, replaced by the hissing of steam brakes and the sudden, chaotic clatter of three hundred students remembering they had luggage.
In the compartment, the air shifted. The casual indolence of the journey evaporated, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of preparation.
Narcissa stood first, checking her reflection in the darkened window. She found no flaws, because she never permitted any, and adjusted her silver prefect badge by a millimeter.
"The platform will be chaos," she noted, her voice cool and detached. "First years are herded like livestock toward the lake. Do try not to fall in, Vega. It ruins the velvet."
"I float well enough," Vega replied, shrinking his trunk and slipping it into his pocket.
Bellatrix didn't check her reflection. She stood and stretched, a feline movement that cracked her spine and radiated a terrifying amount of latent energy. She looked at the door like she wanted to blast it off its hinges rather than slide it open.
"Let the others scramble," Bellatrix murmured, her dark eyes flashing with a predatory amusement. "We exit last. A Black does not queue."
They waited. It was a power move, subtle and petty, but effective. They listened to the stampede of feet in the corridor, the shouting, the banging of trunks. Only when the noise had thinned to a trickle did Andromeda slide the door open.
"Welcome to the Scotland," Andromeda said softly, looking back at him. "It's colder than London. Keep your shields up."
They stepped out onto the platform. The air hit Vega like a physical slap—damp, freezing, and smelling of pine resin and coal smoke.
Bellatrix paused on the step, looking out over the sea of students. She turned to Vega, her expression unreadable in the gloom.
"This is the playground, little Prince," she whispered, her voice cutting through the steam. "There are wolves in the forest and sharks in the lake. If you find yourself bleeding... find us."
It wasn't quite warmth, but from Bellatrix, it was practically a hug.
"I'll keep my teeth sharp, Bella," Vega promised.
She grinned—a flash of white in the dark—and then swept away into the crowd, Narcissa and Andromeda flanking her like a royal guard.
Vega stood alone on the platform for a beat, letting the Ring filter the sensory overload. The noise was deafening, but under it, he could feel the ground. It was ancient. The ley lines here were thick as tree trunks, thrumming with a power that made the magic of Diagon Alley feel like paltry in comparison.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
The voice was tectonic. It boomed over the crowd, shaking the icicles off the station roof.
Vega looked up. And up. Standing by the edge of the platform, holding a lantern that looked like a toy in his hand, was a mountain.
Rubeus Hagrid was immense. But Vega, saw more than just size. He felt the magic. The man's aura was dense, resistant. Spells would bounce off that skin like pebbles off a tank.
Hybrid vigour, Vega noted, fascinated. Giant's blood. Magic resistance woven into the DNA. A biological siege engine with a friendly face.
"All right there? Move along now, firs' years! Follow me!"
Vega joined the gaggle of nervous eleven-year-olds. He saw Frank Longbottom, if Vega recalled the crest on his trunk correctly. Beside him was a girl with sharp, inquisitive eyes and messy hair, Alice Fortescue he distantly noted.
"To the boats!" Hagrid roared. "Mind yer step! Follow me!"
The Black Lake
The path down to the lake was steep, slippery, and pitch black. Vega navigated it by feel, letting his metamorphmagus ability adjust his night vision until the path glowed with a faint, grey luminescence.
They turned a corner, and the narrow path opened onto the edge of a great black lake. The water was still. Unnaturally so. It didn't lap at the shore; it waited.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of small wooden skiffs bobbing in the shallows.
Vega stepped into the nearest boat. He was joined by a pale, sharp-faced boy who looked like he was vibrating with nerves—Barty Crouch Jr., if Vega recalled the Ministry gala guest lists correctly—and two girls he didn't recognize.
"Everyone in?" Hagrid shouted from his own boat. "Right then... FORWARD!"
The fleet of boats moved all at once, propelled by unseen hands, gliding across the glass- smooth surface.
For a few minutes, there was only silence. The kind of silence that demands reverence. The only sound was the ripple of water and the collective breathing of forty children.
Vega trailed his hand in the water. It was freezing, but it hummed. The lake was a battery. There were things down there, Grindylows, Merpeople, the Giant Squid, all living in a soup of concentrated magic that had been leaking from the castle for a thousand years.
"Heads down!" Hagrid yelled as the first boats reached a curtain of ivy hiding an opening in the cliff face.
They passed through the dark tunnel, the rock pressing close, the air thick with damp and earth. And then, they burst into the underground harbor.
Vega looked up. And his breath stopped.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed above them.
Vega had seen pictures. He had read descriptions in Hogwarts: A History. He had heard his mother talk about the glory of the dungeons and his grandfather talk about the library and the vast grounds.
None of it prepared him for the reality.
Hogwarts wasn't a mere castle. It was a fortress. Turrets spiraled up into the night sky, defying gravity with a casual arrogance. Bridges spanned chasms that shouldn't exist. Windows glowed with warm, golden light, hundreds of eyes staring out into the dark.
But it was the feeling that nearly brought Vega to his knees.
The air here was saturated. It was heavy, tasting of iron, ozone, old parchment, and stone. It pressed against his skin, vibrating in his teeth, singing in his blood. The castle wasn't just sitting on a ley line; it was a knot. A massive, complex, centuries-old knot of intent that had achieved a kind of semi-sentience.
The Hum in his veins spiked, trying to harmonize with the sheer volume of power radiating from the stone. His wand, the Quetzalcoatl feather, woke up in his sleeve, trilling with a desperate, ecstatic need to connect.
It's too much, Vega thought, his eyes wide. How do they live in this? It's like living inside a reactor core.
The memory hit him then. A conversation in the study, six months ago.
Flashback: February 17, 1968, Arcturus's Study
Arcturus Black stood by the fireplace, staring into the green flames. He held a glass of brandy, swirling it absentmindedly.
"You think Hogwarts is a school, Vega?" Arcturus asked, his voice low and gravelly.
"It is where we learn magic, Grandfather," Vega replied from his chair.
Arcturus chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "No. It is where you survive magic. Do you know what a Noble Phantasm is?" Vega shook his head.
"It is an old term. A conceptual weapon. A reality marble. A space where the rules of the world are overwritten by the will of the creator."
Arcturus turned, his grey eyes piercing.
"Hogwarts was built by four Arch-Wizards. Not teachers, Vega. Titans. Godric Gryffindor could duel armies. Rowena Ravenclaw could outthink fate. Helga Hufflepuff could terraform wastelands. Salazar Slytherin... well, Salazar could speak to the earth itself."
Arcturus walked over and tapped Vega on the chest.
"They didn't build a school. They built a fortress of impossible geometry. They wove so much magic into the stones that the castle developed an ego. The staircases move because they get bored. Hidden corridors appear on whim. It is a living, breathing entity, saturated with a thousand years of teenage emotion and near-divine level spellwork.
Arcturusleanedinclose.
"When you see it, do not just look at the towers. Feel the weight of it. You are walking into the belly of a sleeping god. Treat it with respect, or it will eat you."
Present Time
"Vega?"
The whisper came from Barty Crouch Jr. beside him. "Are you alright? You're shaking."
Vega blinked, the memory receding. He looked down at his hand. It wasn't shaking from fear. It was vibrating. The resonance.
He took a deep breath, forcing the Ring to dampen the input, to turn down the volume of the castle's song.
"I'm fine," Vega whispered back, a slow, wonder-struck smile spreading across his face. "I'm just... listening."
Hagrid raised a massive fist and knocked three times on the castle door.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The sound echoed like thunder.
Vega straightened his spine. He smoothed his robes. He touched the wand in his sleeve. This wasn't just a school. It was a legacy. It was a challenge carved in stone.
The doors groaned open.
"Welcome," Vega whispered to the light pouring out. "I'm here."