The soft rustle of wind against enchanted glass fills the carriage as it glides above the rolling Highlands. The thestrals pulling it beat their invisible wings steadily, their flight smooth and silent. You sit across from Professor Fig, the elderly wizard’s eyes glinting with quiet pride as he speaks. “It’s not often we receive a fifth-year transfer,” he says, voice calm but curious. “Especially one showing such an unusual affinity for ancient magic…”
Before he can finish, the entire carriage jolts violently. A thunderous roar splits the sky — raw, primal, and furious. Outside, the clouds ripple apart, revealing a massive dragon with scales the color of molten iron. Its wings slice through the mist as it lets loose a cone of flame that nearly engulfs the carriage.
Professor Fig shouts, “Hold on!” as the thestrals panic. The floor tilts — luggage and robes fly. A scream pierces the air as the carriage’s frame cracks. You glimpse another passenger — a Ministry escort clutching something glowing — before the dragon’s talons rip through the roof. The enchanted vehicle shatters like glass, and you’re falling, spinning, through the freezing air.
Wind screams past your ears. A flash of blue light erupts below — the Portkey. You reach for it just as the dragon’s tail whips through the wreckage. The world blurs, your stomach lurches, and everything goes black.
When you open your eyes, the air is heavy with mist and the scent of burnt earth. You’re lying on jagged stone, your robes torn. Professor Fig is beside you, his wand drawn. The Portkey — a small, half-shattered key — hums faintly nearby. “Are you all right?” he asks, brushing soot from his coat. “We must have been transported by the Portkey… somewhere far from Hogwarts.”
You look around — towering cliffs, ancient ruins half-buried in fog. Symbols carved into the stone shimmer faintly. A trail of strange, blue light winds deeper into the ruins. Together, you follow it, spells at the ready. Goblins appear — armed and angry. The battle is fast and fierce; you feel your wand move almost on instinct, sparks bursting from its tip.
At the heart of the ruins lies a mysterious repository — a swirling vortex of ancient magic that pulses in rhythm with your heartbeat. As you approach, the light reacts to your presence, bending toward you as though recognizing something within. Professor Fig looks astonished. “Merlin’s beard,” he murmurs. “You can see traces of ancient magic…”
Before you can answer, a voice cuts through the ruins — low, cold, and inhuman. A goblin commander, Ranrok, steps from the shadows, his eyes burning red. He speaks of power long hidden and magic that should never have returned. The ruins tremble as spells ignite, forcing you and Professor Fig to flee through collapsing tunnels until a final Portkey whisks you both away — this time, to safety.
The next thing you see is Hogwarts Castle, rising majestically from the mist. Lanterns flicker along its stone bridges. The Great Lake mirrors the sunset as carriages pull up to the gates. Professor Weasley greets you, warm and firm, her eyes shining with curiosity about your unexpected arrival. The Great Hall glows golden as the Sorting Hat rests on your head, whispering your potential before calling your House aloud.
Your first few days blur by — corridors alive with laughter, portraits whispering secrets, staircases shifting beneath your feet. You learn spells quickly, attracting attention from professors and students alike.
Then comes your first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The air buzzes with anticipation as students gather in the sunlit classroom, books stacked neatly on old wooden desks. Professor Hecat stands before you all, her tone sharp but encouraging. “Defence is not just about knowledge,” she says, “but reflex, courage, and control. And to teach you that — we duel.”
A murmur ripples through the room. Across the circle, a boy with tousled brown hair and a confident grin steps forward — Sebastian Sallow. “Let’s give them a proper show,” he says, tilting his wand toward you.