Chapter 8 – A Whisper After Midnight

The Sorting ended with applause and the clatter of silverware as the golden plates on the tables filled themselves with food. Roast chicken, steaming potatoes, buttered carrots, pastries with pumpkin glaze—dishes from every corner of the wizarding world appeared in a gleaming parade.

Celene ate quietly, more focused on the atmosphere than the meal. At the Ravenclaw table, the conversation flowed with quiet elegance. Older students debated wand theory between bites of shepherd's pie. One boy was halfway through a levitating spoon experiment before a Prefect raised an eyebrow and he stopped.

Arden sat a few seats down the Ravenclaw table, looking both thrilled and overwhelmed. When he caught Celene's gaze, he gave her a small, awkward smile and raised his goblet slightly in a silent toast. She nodded back, the corner of her mouth lifting just barely.

Across the hall, Cormac Wexley was retelling his Kraken encounter with increasingly exaggerated gestures. Linnea, seated beside him at the Gryffindor table, was laughing so hard she nearly spilled her pumpkin juice.

Celene looked between them for a moment—Arden's quiet presence, Linnea's bright energy—and realized, for the first time, she wasn't entirely alone in this place.

Her eyes wandered upward to the enchanted ceiling—deep night sky and shifting stars. Beneath it all, the Great Hall hummed with life.

Then the voice of Headmaster Dumbledore rang out, calm and clear, cutting through the noise with no effort.

"A few words," he said, arms spread wide. "And yes, only a few. My appetite is not nearly as patient as yours."

A soft ripple of laughter.

"Firstly, allow me to extend my warmest welcome to all new and returning students. This castle is old, and her walls remember more than we do—so do be kind to them. In turn, they'll keep you warm, curious, and slightly confused. Which is healthy."

He paused, smile glinting behind his beard.

"A few important notes: The Forbidden Forest remains—yes, still—forbidden. Not even half of a toe inside, no matter how brave, bored, or ill-advisedly hungry you may be. The third-floor corridor remains closed for the time being, due to an experiment that went… sideways."

A few students exchanged nervous glances.

"And finally, I am pleased to introduce this year's new Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts—one of the most talented young minds I have had the privilege of knowing. Please welcome Professor Ravi Thaman, joining us from the Mahoutokoro Extension in Mumbai."

A man in his late twenties stood gracefully from the staff table. He wore deep green robes trimmed with gold thread, and a deep-blue sash around his waist embroidered with protective runes. His skin was copper-toned, his dark hair pulled into a low knot, and a faint mark—a crescent—was visible at the base of his neck. His eyes, sharp and quiet, swept across the students like a wand reading auras.

Celene felt them pause—on her.

Only for a second.

He nodded faintly and sat again.

Dumbledore clapped once, gently. "Do not challenge him to a duel. Especially after dessert."

The feast ended in a rush of chatter and yawns. The Ravenclaw Prefects led them up through a maze of shifting staircases, talking over their shoulders about ghosts, enchanted portraits, and the school's annual riddle competition.

They stopped at a wide spiral staircase that ended in a polished wooden door with a bronze eagle knocker.

"To enter," said the Prefect, "you must answer the question."

The eagle knocker turned its beak toward them and asked in a smooth voice,

"What is the beginning of knowledge?"

A first-year tried, "Curiosity?"

The door didn't move.

Another guessed, "A question?"

The knocker replied, "So close."

Celene stepped forward, quietly.

"Ignorance," she said.

The door creaked open.

The Ravenclaw common room unfolded before them—circular, airy, with a high domed ceiling painted to reflect the sky. Tall arched windows looked out over the mountains. Blue velvet chairs and silver-trimmed shelves filled the space, scattered with books, orbs, and softly ticking clocks.

"Top of the tower," someone whispered beside her. "Closest to the stars."

She liked that.

Her dormitory was quiet. The curtains around each bed were embroidered with constellations. Celene unpacked methodically, placing her medallion on the small wooden shelf beside her wand case.

The room grew dark.

And the castle shifted.

Not physically—nothing moved. But something in the air changed. The medallion pulsed once, a quiet warmth. The air grew still.

Then, in the back of her mind—

A sound.

Not a voice.

Not words.

A tone.

Low, ancient. Like stone humming beneath earth.

Her eyes opened fully.

Everyone else was asleep.

But the castle was not.

Celene sat up, one hand on the medallion, the other on her wand.

She didn't feel fear.

She felt invited.