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 in an instant.
"As we begin a new school year, just a few quick reminders…"
"One… Mr Filch the caretaker…"
"Two… the Forbidden Forest…"
"Three… sign up with Madam Hooch if you wish to play Quidditch…"
"…and finally… anyone who does not wish to suffer a very painful death should stay well away from the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
Many first-years laughed at the last line, assuming the old headmaster 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 wore expressions of long-suffering pain.
Under Dumbledore's enthusiastic conducting, the Great Hall dissolved into glorious chaos. Every possible tune clashed at once.
The Weasley twins launched into a funeral march.
Julien sang to the melody of Hey Jude.
The twins quickly gave up 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.
On the left near the window, a tall, thin boy stood on tiptoe trying to shove an extremely thick book onto the top shelf—one that looked heavy enough to knock someone unconscious.
He wore round glasses, and his eyes behind them were focused but slightly anxious. His light brown hair stuck up wildly, as if it had just survived a hurricane.
When he saw Julien, he gave a shy but polite smile. "Hello. You must be Caelum Julien Black. I'm Edgar Finch, from a magical family in Yorkshire."
Julien smiled back. "Just call me Julien."
"Oi! Julien."
The voice came from the bed nearest the door. Its owner was lounging against the headboard, lazily tossing a golden Snitch model that kept changing patterns. He had slightly curly black hair, darker skin, and a carefree glint in his eyes.
"I'm Casen Moretti. Hope you don't snore."
Julien laughed. He set down his trunk and walked to his own bed—the one on the right by the window.
"Don't worry, I'm not old enough to snore yet. But if either of you grinds your teeth at night, I might join in."
Being eleven or twelve, the three boys were full of energy. Before long they were chatting away. The tall arched windows stood open, letting in the cool, damp night air.
---
Hogwarts' morning sunlight poured generously into Room 307 of Ravenclaw Tower. Julien was woken by Casen Moretti's golden Snitch model smacking him squarely on the nose. The cold metal made him bolt upright.
"Rise and shine, Your Lordship!" Casen drawled from his bed. "Any later and breakfast becomes lunch."
"First class today is McGonagall's Transfiguration," Edgar added, already fully dressed and meticulously straightening every fold of his robes in front of the mirror. "I read in Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration that 'concentration is the foundation of success'…"
"Relax, Edgar," Julien said, pulling on his custom-tailored robes with a grin. "McGonagall looks strict, but she's fair if you're serious. Besides, I bet she won't turn us into porcelain dolls. That'd be a waste—at least she'd make us into fancy goblets."
By the time the three of them reached the Great Hall, many students were already eating.
The long House tables had been replaced by smaller, scattered ones for breakfast.
Julien had just sat down when Hermione marched over with a plate of toast, radiating the confident glow of someone who had already memorised the entire year's curriculum.
"Good morning, Julien!" She set her plate down. "What's your first class? We've got Potions with Slytherin. I stayed up rereading Beginner's Potions and memorised every recipe again. I'm definitely earning points for Gryffindor today."
Julien yawned and gave her a look. Still so innocent.
"You memorised them. But what about Harry, Ron, and the others? You might not gain points—you might even lose them."
"Ugh! You sound just like the Weasley twins. You lot just can't stand to see anyone do well." Hermione shot him a strange glare. "As for Harry, I already reminded him."
Julien was about to reply when Harry and Ron came barreling over like twin hurricanes, Ron still clutching a half-eaten sausage.
"Thank God you're here!" Ron panted. "We almost got lost! These stairs are mental!"
Harry looked slightly troubled. He leaned in and whispered, "Julien, I think Professor Snape was staring at me earlier… and my scar started hurting again."
"Don't worry, Harry," Julien patted his shoulder. "Could be coincidence. Or maybe something else was watching you. Just keep an eye on Snape today—I've heard he's particularly nasty."
"Julien's right," Ron added. "George and Fred told me Snape loves docking points from Gryffindor."
"It's Professor Snape!" Hermione corrected from the side. She huffed and walked off, but turned back after a few steps. "And all of you—hurry up! First class of the year, no one be late!"
"Talks like she's already a professor," Ron grumbled. He'd been annoyed with Hermione's attitude ever since the train.
"Haha, she's always been like that. Don't mind her," Julien explained.
"By the way, Julien, what's your first class?" Harry asked, changing the subject smoothly.
"We've got Transfiguration with Hufflepuff this morning, then Potions in the afternoon."
"Wish we had classes together," Ron muttered. "Seeing that lot from Slytherin puts me right off."
Harry nodded vigorously.
Sunlight streamed through Hogwarts' stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns across the stone corridors.
Julien followed the morning mist and his roommates toward the Transfiguration classroom, the silver lime wand in his pocket vibrating gently with anticipation.
The moment they pushed open the classroom door, they saw the Hufflepuff students had arrived even earlier.
Julien spotted Liriya in the corner. She was still wrapped in her feathered cloak, quietly fiddling with something. When she saw him enter, her ice-blue eyes lifted briefly before dropping again.
Julien led Edgar and Casen to seats in the middle-back row by the window—his usual spot after years of classroom experience.
Soon more Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students trickled in: Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, and others.
Julien remembered that many of them later joined Dumbledore's Army. So much for Ravenclaws being mere bookworms and Hufflepuffs being soft.
Professor McGonagall hadn't arrived yet. On the desk sat a sleek tabby cat with dark stripes and distinctive square markings around its eyes.
Of course, unlike other transmigrators, Julien had zero desire to go pet it just to show how special he was.
What he didn't know was that Liriya—who had a way with creatures—had tried to approach the cat earlier, only to be coldly rejected when it leapt away.
The bell rang.
The tabby cat on the desk suddenly leapt down with graceful ease. Its fur rippled and expanded like liquid. In the blink of an eye the feline form melted away, replaced by black wizarding robes.
The cat stretched elegantly into a tall, straight-backed figure. The square markings around its eyes faded, leaving only a pair of sharp, stern eyes behind square spectacles.
Amid the first-years' gasps of astonishment, Professor McGonagall straightened her collar and tucked every trace of feline grace back behind her usual stern expression.
The famous Transfiguration teacher had arrived.
The lesson was about to begin.