The clear bell rang nine times.
"Right, it's getting late—the feast is over." At Dumbledore's words, every plate and dish vanished from the long tables.
"As we begin a new school year, a few quick reminders…"
"One… Mr Filch the caretaker…"
"Two… the Forbidden Forest…"
"Three… sign up with Madam Hooch for…"
"…and finally… anyone who doesn't fancy a horrible death should stay out of the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
Many first-years laughed at the last line, thinking the old man was joking again—especially the loudest laughter coming from the Gryffindor table.
"Right then, let's end tonight's feast with a song—the Hogwarts school song!"
Snape, McGonagall and several other professors immediately looked pained.
Under Dumbledore's enthusiastic conducting, the Great Hall dissolved into glorious chaos. Every tune imaginable clashed at once.
The Weasley twins launched into a funeral march.
Julien sang to the melody of Hey Jude.
The twins quickly gave up their own tune and joined in: "Na-na-na-na… na-na-na-na… hey Jude…"
Hermione, Harry, Seamus, Cho Chang and half the hall jumped on board. Even Dumbledore abandoned his baton and conducted with pure delight.
…
The last notes of the feast still echoed under the starry ceiling when Robert Hilliard, the tall, handsome Ravenclaw prefect, stood up beside their table.
He clapped his hands once. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut cleanly through the chatter. "First-years, follow me. Stay together, and try not to stare too long at the stairs—they don't like being watched."
Julien rose with the others. He caught Hermione waving from the far end of the Gryffindor table; Harry and Ron were busy stuffing leftover pudding into their mouths.
He smiled back, then fell into step behind the group.
The small procession of first-years left the brightly lit hall and stepped into the castle's deep corridors.
The stone walls here weren't lit by candles but by glowing blue crystals that cast a soft, cool light like moonlight on water.
The air smelled of old books, parchment and a faint trace of cedar.
"This path leads to our tower," Robert explained as they walked, his tone calm and scholarly. "Ravenclaw's common room sits at the very top of the western tower. Our symbol is the raven—wisdom and foresight. Remember, we value intelligence, not showmanship; the pursuit of knowledge, not victory."
He led them up a spiral staircase that seemed to have a mind of its own—sometimes rising slowly, sometimes stopping abruptly, and once even sliding sideways to deposit them in a different corridor.
"Don't panic," Robert called over his shoulder with a grin. "It's just checking you belong. Only true Ravenclaws can reach the top. One of the castle's many charms."
Finally they arrived at a huge door made of polished white birch.
There was no ordinary handle, only a smooth bronze disc engraved with a raven in flight. Its eyes were two deep blue sapphires that sparkled with quiet intelligence.
"Our entrance doesn't use a password," Robert said. "It asks you a question. There's no single right answer, but your reply must show real wisdom, not rote knowledge. Who wants to try first?"
A small, nervous boy stepped forward. The raven's sapphire eyes lit up and a clear, musical female voice asked:
"What grows the more you share it?"
The boy scratched his head, stammered, then backed away red-faced.
The next girl thought for a second and answered confidently, "Knowledge!"
The raven's eyes flashed. A soft click sounded and the door swung open.
Robert clapped. "Excellent, Emily! That's one correct answer. Actually there are others—who else has an idea?"
No one spoke. Julien stepped up. Looking into those sapphire eyes he said softly, "Love. True love never diminishes when given; it only grows richer when shared."
"Very good—excellent, even. Let's try one more. Who's next?"
Another young witch approached.
"I hang on the wall, have no life, yet I watch everything. I never speak, yet I tell everyone the truth. What am I?"
"Mirror," she answered without hesitation.
"Perfect! Who else?"
"Me!"
"Me too!"
Seeing the first-years eager to try, Robert smiled proudly—Ravenclaw loved curious minds. "All right, one last round."
This time a brown-skinned boy stepped forward.
"Everyone has me, yet no one can give me away. Everyone wants to find happiness and lose me, but once I'm gone I never return. What am I?"
The boy hesitated. Robert waited a moment, then said kindly, "It's all right—anyone can answer together. You have sixty seconds. If no one gets it, we'll wait for older students to help."
Julien waited a few more seconds. When no one spoke, he stepped up again. "Time!"
The raven's eyes blazed bright. A clear, ringing cry echoed and the great door slid open silently, revealing a dazzling night sky beyond.
The common room was a huge circular chamber. The domed ceiling seemed to open straight onto the real stars, which drifted slowly overhead.
Arched windows lined the walls, hung with blue and bronze silk curtains that were still open, offering a breathtaking view of the entire school and the rolling Scottish Highlands.
The Black Lake lay like a mirror of black jade, reflecting the starry sky. Distant mountains and forests faded into soft shadows.
Comfortable sky-blue sofas and armchairs were scattered everywhere. Floating books and soft-glowing magical lamps hovered above each table.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, packed with countless magical volumes. A few older students were already curled up reading.
Cho Chang looked up from one of the sofas, spotted Julien, and gave him a quick, bright wink.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower," Robert said, pride ringing in his voice. "We have no curfew. As long as you stay quiet, you can read, think, or simply stargaze whenever you like.
"Dormitories are on the second floor—boys turn left, girls turn right at the top of the spiral stairs. Breakfast is in the Great Hall at eight tomorrow morning, followed by Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class. Don't be late—she's nowhere near as easy-going as I am."
The first-years didn't linger in the common room. They headed straight upstairs.
Julien climbed two more spirals and stepped into a quiet corridor lined with deep-blue carpet and walls covered in star charts and portraits of ancient philosophers.
Each dormitory door had a small brass plaque engraved with the room number and the names of its occupants in elegant script.
Julien's was Room 307. The moment he pushed the door open, the clean scent of pine washed over him.
The room was bright and spacious. Four four-poster beds stood in a gentle fan shape, each with sky-blue hangings, an oak desk and a built-in bookshelf. Their luggage had already been delivered.
His two roommates had arrived first. For now, only three of them would share the space.