The Hogwarts Express glided smoothly across the countryside, a red serpent threading through the Scottish hills.
The door to the compartment Stelle had chosen slid open a crack.
A girl with bushy brown hair poked her head in and spoke rapidly, “Have you seen a toad?
A boy named Neville lost his…” Stelle looked up at her, confused, and shook her head.
“No.” The girl at the door, Hermione Granger, seemed taken aback by the blunt answer.
Just then, Harry and Ron appeared behind her.
Stelle’s eyes swept over the scar on Harry’s forehead, then settled on the rat in Ron’s hands.
She stared at the creature for an extra two seconds, as if thinking something over.
Before Hermione could speak again, Stelle pointed at the rat and asked with pure curiosity, “Has he always been this fat and sluggish?” Ron’s face flushed crimson.
“It’s Scabbers!
He’s just old!” He hugged the rat protectively.
Stelle nodded and didn’t press further, instead turning her attention to studying the window mechanism.
Hermione seemed to want to regain control of the conversation.
She straightened her back and reminded, “Your robes don’t look quite neat.
First-years should…” She didn’t finish, because Stelle had already taken out her wand and tapped it at her own slightly rumpled robe hem.
In an instant, the fabric became smooth and flat.
The whole motion was fluid and effortless.
She even used her wand to adjust her crooked tie, making it straighten itself.
Stelle smiled at Hermione.
“Haha, pretty cool, right?
And it’s faster this way.” Hermione opened her mouth but said nothing.
She watched Stelle’s practiced spellwork, her expression complicated.
Not long after, the compartment door slid open again.
This time, it wasn’t one person but three.
The leader was a pale-faced boy with sleek, perfectly combed platinum-blond hair.
Behind him stood two large, lumbering, brutish-looking boys, like bodyguards.
“Is it true?” the blond boy said directly to Harry, his voice drawling and rude.
“They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment.
So it’s you, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Harry said.
He glanced at the two fat boys flanking the blond one, who were blocking the doorway from either side.
“Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” the boy said casually when he noticed Harry looking at them.
“My name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” Ron gave a slight cough, maybe to stifle a laugh, because the name Draco Malfoy did sound a bit ridiculous.
Malfoy’s gaze immediately swept toward him.
“You think my name’s funny?” His tone turned cold.
“I don’t need to ask who you are.
My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” He turned to Harry, his tone becoming slightly friendlier.
“You’ll soon find out that some wizard families are better than others, Potter.
You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.
I can help you there.” He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.
“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,” Harry said coldly.
A flash of anger crossed Draco Malfoy’s face, but he quickly resumed his haughty demeanor.
“If I were you, Potter, I’d be careful,” he said slowly.
“You’d better be more polite, or you’ll end up the same way as your parents.
They didn’t know what was good for them, either.
You’ll go further with your own wizard family.” It was a vicious remark.
Harry and Ron both stood up.
Ron’s face was as red as his hair.
“Say that again,” Ron said angrily.
Draco Malfoy sneered.
“Oh, so you want to fight, do you?” He glanced at the huge Crabbe and Goyle, clearly confident he had the upper hand.
Just as the tension peaked— “Wow, your hair,” a voice suddenly cut in, shattering the standoff.
Everyone froze and turned toward the source.
It was the gray-haired girl who had been ignored from the start.
She had somehow already stood up and moved very close, tilting her head slightly as she studied Malfoy’s hair, which was coated in a thick layer of gel.
She even stood on tiptoe, leaning in for a closer look, completely disregarding his ugly expression.
Stelle looked up, her golden eyes filled with nothing but pure curiosity, and asked very seriously, “What did you use to fix it?
How does it keep that shape?” As she spoke, her fingers unconsciously twisted around one of her own unruly gray strands—a stark contrast.
Her words were like a pebble tossed into a powder keg.
They didn’t dispel the hostility, but they broke the rhythm of the conflict in a completely unexpected way.
Draco was obviously thrown by the strange question.
The arrogance and anger on his face froze, and he even instinctively raised a hand to touch his hair before stopping himself mid-motion.
The tips of his ears flushed slightly, whether from anger or embarrassment.
He opened his mouth as if to scold this rude person, but faced with Stelle’s crystal-clear gaze, he couldn’t decide whether to defend his hairstyle’s dignity first or continue the earlier provocation.
Harry and Ron, too, were caught off guard by the sudden interruption; their built-up anger hung in the air, their expressions turning slightly comical.
In the end, with a stifled sense of grievance, Draco shot Stelle a fierce glare, then ground out to Harry, “You’ll find out soon enough what sort of people you should be dealing with.” With that, he yanked the door shut behind him, storming off with Crabbe and Goyle.
The compartment fell quiet.
Ron blinked, looked at Stelle, and said in disbelief, “Did you just… ask him about his hair?” Stelle had already sat back down by the window.
At his words, she nodded and gave an impartial assessment, “Yeah.
It looked stiff, like it could handle wind really well.
Worth studying.” She touched her own hair and added softly, “Mine keeps sticking up.” To her, Malfoy’s taunts or talk of blood status were far less interesting than that solid-looking hair.
Her world was that simple—and that infuriating.
Stelle faintly heard Ron mutter, “She’s a real weirdo…” The train rolled on.
When a bang and cheerful shouts came from the next compartment, Stelle got up and walked over, as if drawn by an intriguing summons.
Fred and George were busy cleaning up a puddle of something that kept changing colors.
Stelle watched for a moment, blinked, and said, “What’s that?
If you added something sticky, would it last longer?” Fred and George both whirled around to see a girl with a serious expression.
Two seconds of silence.
“George, did I hear that right?” “It’s a stroke of genius, Fred!” The twins exchanged excited looks.
Fred enthusiastically handed over a brightly wrapped candy.
“Try this!
It’ll change your tongue color for a whole day!” Stelle took the candy.
“Thanks.
I’m going to go explore other places now.” She turned and left.
George watched her retreating back and murmured, “I’ve got a feeling she’ll be in Gryffindor.” … As night fell, the train finally slowed to a stop at a small, dark platform.
A cold wind and drizzle swept toward them.
Then a booming voice rang out, “First-years!
This way!
Harry, over here!” Stelle saw a giant.
After introducing himself, he lifted a huge lantern and led the way, guiding them like a lighthouse.
The students trudged after him, stumbling down a steep, narrow path.
Stelle wobbled a bit on the muddy ground, but her eyes kept looking around with curiosity.
“You’ll get your first sight of Hogwarts in a moment!” Hagrid called back over his shoulder.
The path ended, and suddenly a black lake spread out before them.
On the high hill on the far shore stood an enormous castle, its towers soaring, its windows glittering under the starry sky.
Gasps of wonder rose from the crowd.
Stelle stared quietly at the castle, the distant lights reflected in her golden pupils.
Her mouth fell open slightly, showing a rare expression of awe that matched her apparent age.
“No more than four to a boat!” Hagrid shouted, pointing to a row of little boats by the shore.
Stelle climbed into a boat at random.
Three other girls she didn’t know got in with her.
The boat set off on its own, gliding smoothly across the lake that was like black glass.
Everyone was silent, gazing up at the castle as it drew nearer.
Stelle reached out, her fingertips brushing the icy water, feeling the rhythm of the waves, watching the moonlight shatter and reform on the surface.
As the flotilla approached the cliff, Hagrid shouted, “Heads down!” They ducked, and the boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hung over the face of the cliff, into a hidden entrance.
They disembarked at what seemed like an underground dock and gathered in front of a huge oak door.
Hagrid raised a massive fist and knocked three times.
The door swung open at once.
Professor McGonagall stood there, her emerald-green robes and stern expression in full view.
“The first-years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid said.
“Thank you, Hagrid.
I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide.
The entrance hall was enormous, with flaming torches lining the stone walls and a ceiling so high it was nearly invisible.
Ahead lay a magnificent marble staircase leading to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the stone floor.
Stelle could hear the buzz of hundreds of voices from behind the door on the right—the rest of the school had already arrived.
She kept looking up at the high ceiling as she walked, nearly tripping over her own feet.
But Professor McGonagall led the first-years into a small, empty room off the hall.
They all crowded together, glancing around nervously.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall.
“The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly…” Stelle stood at the edge of the group, her gaze fixed past the professor, toward the door that was about to open.
The warm firelight and cheerful noise spilling through it promised a whole new world.