The Hogwarts Express chugged along with a deep rumble that was just short of hypnotic. Falcon felt herself succumb to a drowsy half-awareness, but though her heavy eyelids begged for it, sleep eluded her. She shivered.

The Dementor was long gone, but its lingering chill sapped warmth from the very marrow of her bones. Her head rested atop Theo's, his own tucked snugly into the crook of her neck, his soft breaths tickling her skin. Seeking more of his warmth, she subtly snuggled closer to him. His body shuddered with a stifled sob.

Though Falcon couldn't see his face, tear tracks no doubt marred his cheeks. She allowed him the small deception of pretending to be asleep; now was not the time for conversation.

The compartment door slid open, and Harry stepped in, his green eyes, filled with concern, locked onto hers. "How are you doing, Falcon?"

Feeling small and vulnerable in the presence of her older brother, she mustered a wan smile while brushing a strand of unruly hair out of her face. "I'm okay, still a little shaky."

Harry handed her what looked like a crushed chocolate frog box. "Here, this should help."

After some struggle, she managed to extract what was left of a chocolate frog and took a bite. As the sweetness melted on her tongue, she felt a gentle wave of warmth seep through her body, pushing back the residual chill—the reprieve, small but welcome.

"Is your friend okay?" Harry asked, glancing at Theo, who now lay slumped against the window.

"Yes, he's fine. Just resting," Falcon assured him.

"Do you want me to stay?" Harry inquired, his gaze studying her.

"No, it's okay, Harry," she said, her voice tinged with both gratitude and impatience. She was eager for Harry to leave so she could offer Theo some of the chocolate in private.

Harry's eyes lingered for a moment longer, his expression intense. Finally, he nodded. "Alright, if you're sure. Just wanted to check on you."

As the door slid shut behind Harry, guilt nipped at Falcon's conscience. Because her family had been the only safety net she had ever known, her connection with Theo was unexpected and confusing. Turning Harry away felt like a small betrayal. She shook her head as if to clear the unexpected emotion and gently nudged Theo, stirring him from his feigned slumber.

"Harry brought some chocolate," she murmured, breaking off a piece for him. "It helps."

Theo accepted the chocolate with a croaked, "Thanks." Falcon watched as his cheeks regained some color, but when sensing her attention, he quickly turned away.

For the remainder of the journey, the two sat side by side in their compartment, each avoiding the other's gaze as the sky faded from pink to orange and then to a deep navy hue. The silence was only filled by the clacking of the wheels on the tracks and the gentle creaking of their compartment as it swayed. When the train finally slowed, signaling their imminent arrival at Hogsmeade Station, Falcon felt a mixture of both relief and trepidation.

Gathering her courage, Falcon glanced at Theo and offered a shy smile. Without a word, she extended her hand toward him. Theo looked at her open palm and then back at her face, before grasping it firmly.

Together, they pushed open the compartment door and stepped out into the corridor.

As they disembarked from the train, a cold drizzle descended like a shroud, imbuing the air with a dreamlike quality as students flowed out of the Hogwarts Express.

"First years, this way!" a booming voice echoed across the platform. Falcon turned to see a towering figure with wild hair and an even wilder beard. His eyes twinkled like stars above a smile as wide as his girth. In his large hand, he clutched a tiny pink umbrella, an object so absurdly dainty in his grip that Falcon couldn't help but grin.

"Evenin', Theo. Made yerself a friend already, have yeh? Good lad," he chortled, winking.

Theo replied with teeth chattering, "G-good evening, Hagrid. Th-this is Falcon."

Hagrid beamed down at Falcon, "Falcon, yeh say? A fine name, that is. Nice ter meet yeh, welcome ter Hogwarts! Say, I rescued a falcon once. Poor thing got its wing stuck in a thorn bush near me house. Took me half a mornin' ter untangle 'im, but he flew off…"

Hagrid unexpectedly exclaimed, "You too, young Harry!"

With his mouth slightly agape in disbelief, Harry took tentative steps towards the giant man. He lifted a hand to his chest, as if not quite believing the words he was hearing. "Me? Why me?" he asked incredulously.

"Anybody gettin' sorted rides the boats," Hagrid explained.

Harry begrudgingly shuffled behind, as the group of first years trailed Hagrid toward a fleet of boats at the edge of a dark lake. Falcon and Theo picked one, and Harry reluctantly climbed in after them, his focus fixed on his shoes. Falcon noticed a few of the first years staring at her brother, faces filled with awe. Falcon rolled her eyes. Harry looked like he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Once everyone settled in the boats, Hagrid bellowed, "Steady on" and the fleet moved forward with magical synchronization, gliding swiftly over the dark water. As they rounded a bend, Hogwarts Castle came into majestic view, its towers stretching high into the cloudy sky. Falcon felt her breath catch in her throat, a rush of awe filling her from head to toe.

Turning to Theo, her eyes met his, and she found him wearing a grin that mirrored her own exhilaration. Yet, when she turned to share this boundless joy with Harry, her excitement evaporated. His face had turned an alarming shade of green, and he looked as if he were on the brink of fainting. Following his gaze, Falcon's eyes widened. Dementors hovered at a distance over the water, their wraith-like forms almost indistinguishable amid the mist and rain.

Around them, other students began to shiver, their faces tinged with unease. A few gasped, hugging themselves as if suddenly chilled to the bone. Falcon felt a cold tingle run down her spine, and she instinctively grasped Theo's hand for comfort. Theo squeezed back, his own face losing a bit of its earlier exhilaration.

Eventually, the boats roughly bumped against the dock. Harry, looking rather pale and unsteady, made an awkward attempt to rise. Noticing Harry's predicament, Hagrid maneuvered out of his own boat and strode over to theirs. Before Harry could stumble, Hagrid's massive hand enveloped his arm, effortlessly lifting him as if he were a mere feather.

"Steady there, lad," Hagrid soothed. With a gentleness contrasting his size, the giant man guided Harry up the steep stone stairs leading to the castle grounds.

Harry's steps were shaky. Falcon could hear his breathing—shallow and hurried—from where she followed behind. When they reached the top step, Harry paused and looked up at Hagrid. "I can make it from here," he said, his voice a strained rasp.

Hagrid held his gaze for a moment, assessing, before finally releasing his arm. "Alright," he conceded. Falcon watched her brother take a deep, steadying breath before he began, unassisted this time, the final trek toward the imposing Main Doors.

As they neared the entrance, Hagrid stepped forward, umbrella still in hand, and knocked three times. The doors groaned open as if roused from a deep slumber to reveal a man in flowing black robes.

Falcon instantly recognized him as Theo's father, Severus Snape, the Deputy Headmaster. His dark eyes surveyed the group before locking momentarily on his son.

"Ah, Hagrid, our first years, I see," the man acknowledged.

"Right yer are, Professor. Plus young Harry, 'ere. They're all yours," Hagrid said, giving a respectful nod. "I'll be gettin' to the feast, then." With that, Hagrid lumbered into the entryway past Professor Snape, disappearing into the shadowy depths of the castle.

"Inside," he said curtly, before turning with a swish of his billowing robes. The students hesitated, sharing nervous glances, before ambling up the steps into a grand entrance hall.

Once the last of the students had filed into the grand hall, the doors shut behind them with a resonant thud. Professor Snape raised his wand, swirling it in a circular motion. Tendrils of hot, dry air crawled across their skin and into their clothes, drying all moisture in its wake.

Falcon grimaced as the magic washed over her. Though the spell removed the wetness, it left her feeling raw, as if she'd been scrubbed with something abrasive. She glanced at Theo, who was rubbing his arms in discomfort, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the man began, his voice grave. "I am Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape. You will address me either as Professor Snape or as Sir. You are here for the Sorting Ceremony. Understand this—it is not merely tradition, but a defining moment in your academic life."

He paused, as if weighing the worth of each student before him. "The Sorting Hat will evaluate your qualities and place you in one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. Your house will become your family."

"Furthermore," Professor Snape continued, "the house to which you are sorted will influence your years here at Hogwarts in more ways than you can imagine. You will compete against the other houses in a variety of ways, not least of which is the house points system. Points will be awarded for good behavior, success in your classes, and other noteworthy accomplishments. Conversely, they can be taken away for rule-breaking or poor performance. At the end of the school year, the house with the most points wins the House Cup, a highly coveted honor."

His eyes swept across the new students, as if daring them to fall short of the institution's expectations. "I suggest you all take this very seriously."

"Wait here," he commanded. "I will return shortly to escort you to the Great Hall for the ceremony."

With that, he turned on his heel, his black robes billowing out behind him, and left them standing there in a palpable cloud of anticipation and nervous energy. Falcon glanced at Theo, who just stared after his father's retreating form.

From the left side of the entrance hall, a woman in an immaculate white healer's uniform emerged, her expression stoic and resolute. Trays of steaming cups of hot chocolate trailed behind her, their levitation maintained with graceful flicks of her wrist.

Beside the stern woman, Theo's visibly exhausted stepfather, Remus Lupin, carried his own tray. His eyes looked almost sunken, like he hadn't slept in days. As she studied him, she noticed something odd in his stride; it was as if he faltered every few steps but was attempting to conceal it. Lines around his mouth and his grayish appearance gave the man a quality that made him look older than she remembered. Beside her, Theo eyed his stepfather with obvious concern.

"Listen up, young ones," the woman announced, her voice rich with authority. "I am Madam Pomfrey, your mediwitch here at Hogwarts, and this is Professor Lupin."

"Dementors are nasty creatures ill-suited for the company of the fragile. I expect everyone to finish their cup of hot chocolate. Quickly now, it will do you good."

Professor Lupin gave a nod. "Please, everyone, take a cup," he added quietly, his voice raspy but tinged with a genuine warmth while handing out the steaming drinks to the waiting students.

Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey made her way over to Harry. Without explanation, she began a rapid and thorough check—pupils, reflexes—muttering under her breath, "Whoever thought it was a good idea to have dementors around children must have shit for brains."

At her choice of words, Professor Lupin shot her a wry look, but she carried on, unfazed. In that moment, Falcon decided she liked the no-nonsense mediwitch, though judging from Harry's red face, he looked as though he would love nothing more than to strangle her.

Harry visibly stiffened at her touch, pulling back ever so slightly as if to escape her examination. His eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists, resisting the intrusion into his personal space.

"Stop squirming," she commanded, clearly not pleased with Harry's lack of cooperation. "Your pulse is rapid and your pupils are dilated."

Harry's face flushed an even deeper shade of red, his jaw tightening as the other students gawked. "I'm fine!"

While her brother continued to struggle, Falcon's attention shifted to Professor Lupin as he lingered near a girl with bobbed black hair and an elfin face. Her complexion was so ashen it nearly matched the swirling mist that clung to the castle walls outside.

"You look like you could use another," he said softly, extending a second cup towards her.

The girl nodded as she accepted the hot chocolate, but offered no thanks. Her hands trembled slightly as she took the cup, but when Professor Lupin turned away she thrust it into the hands of a boy near her.

Professor Lupin continued down the line of students. When he reached Theo, his eyes lingered for a moment on their interlocked hands, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a faint, satisfied smile.

"How're you feeling, honey? Do you need to sit down?" the man inquired quietly, his voice tinged with unmistakable concern as he carded a hand through Theo's hair.

"I'm fine," Theo muttered, batting his hand away; his red face giving away his discomfort with the affection.

Falcon watched as Professor Lupin's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at his stepson. She felt like he knew something was wrong, but chose not to voice his concerns. His quiet choice was deeply touching, and she immediately warmed to the kind man.

Though she loved her Papa dearly, Falcon doubted he would have practiced such restraint.

Professor Lupin reached out with quivering fingers, but then seemed to hesitate as he pulled them back, before abruptly pulling Theo into a fierce hug.

So much for restraint.

Theo's body tensed at first, clearly unsure about the public intimacy. Yet Falcon sensed a slow ebb of tension through their interlocked fingers as Theo yielded, settling more comfortably into his stepfather's arms. Falcon felt oddly intrusive, as though her lingering presence—and the hand Theo still insistently held—was siphoning away something precious from their exchange.

The man took a subtle sniff of Theo's hair, his face momentarily wrinkled in confusion before he smoothed his features.

He pulled away slightly to look at the boy. "Would you like to sleep in your room tonight?" he asked quietly.

Theo shook his head before asking, "How is Teddy?"

His stepfather hesitated before responding. "He's fine… now."

The vagueness of the answer made Falcon wonder what had happened to the little boy.

Just then, Professor Snape reappeared, his voice cutting through the hall. "It's time. Follow me."

Theo squeezed her hand tighter while they fell into line behind the procession of students. As they progressed inside the Great Hall, Falcon looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of the ceiling. It was like an open sky inside a room, with candles floating eerily, their glow punctuating the gloomy night reflected above.

The wonder of the ceiling captivated her only briefly, before the pressing weight of hundreds of eyes claimed her attention. Along with her stomach, she felt her magic churn, as if it too could feel the scrutiny. The shadows cast by the floating candles seemed to stretch towards her, their forms elongating like dark fingers beckoning her into their grasp.

Reaching the front of the Great Hall, Professor Snape lifted an old, tattered hat and set it on a stool. Falcon suddenly remembered something her Papa had once said about the Sorting Hat having a penchant for musical numbers. "Back in my day, the Hat sang a ballad so off-key, even Peeves stopped his mischief to cover his ears! It was protesting being cooped up in the Headmaster's office all year."

Before their eyes, the hat's flap opened like a mouth and began to sing.

Lend me your ear, you'll find me wise,

But hear me out, don't trust the lies.

For decades old, the tale's been skewed,

It's time to hear truths long overdue.

Forget the myths you think you know,

Where there can only be one hero.

The truth's much richer, darker too,

Four founders shaped the school we view.

A lie retold becomes the tale,

History's truth begins to pale.

Facts were lost, replaced, you see,

By layers of false mythology.

History is penned by victors bold,

By Godric, or so you've been told.

A tale of bravery, missing parts

Ignoring minds, neglecting hearts.

Helga's love got left behind,

Rowena's wisdom, out of mind.

The history books omit the truth,

How witches too, shaped our wizard youth.

Salazar, left, that much is true,

Taking with him, his radical views.

His quest took a twisted route,

Distorting what his house's about.

Now, shadowed plans lurk under the light,

Subtle tests that roam the night.

Purpose obscured, intentions veiled,

A chessboard set, where plots prevail.

Today we strive for something new,

A Hogwarts that includes each view.

Where witches, wizards, everyone,

find unity in what's to come.

In Gryffindor, they prize the brave,

With courage strong, they never cave.

In Hufflepuff, loyalty's key,

Where fairness reigns, spirits free.

In Ravenclaw, wisdom's their guide.

With intellect, they do not hide.

In Slytherin, ambition's their trait,

For those who yearn to choose their fate.

So put me on, the truth's in sight,

It's time for change. Let's set it right.

Unveil the past, the path is lit,

Let's forge ahead, get on with it!

After the Sorting Hat concluded its song, there was a smattering of hesitant applause—less an enthusiastic ovation and more a polite acknowledgement, as if the students weren't quite sure how to react to the hat's impassioned lyrics.

The Sorting Hat's flap twitched, clearly perturbed. "Ah, a tough crowd," it muttered, just loud enough for the front row to hear. "Clearly, my poetic genius is wasted on you."

Professor Snape stepped forward. "As you may already be aware," he began, his voice tinged with exasperation as he eyed the hat, "This year, we have someone joining us as a third-year student. He will be sorted first. The rest of you will approach to be sorted after I call your name."

"Harry Potter…"

Harry, ever the reluctant celebrity, cautiously approached Professor Snape, taking his seat on the stool. The hall erupted in whispers and stares. "Is that really the Boy Who Lived?" someone muttered, the murmur spreading like Fiendfyre through the sea of students.

"I heard he's been trained by Lord Black in the dark arts, that's why he didn't come to Hogwarts until now," someone else proclaimed.

Falcon could feel the electric buzz that filled the room as all eyes zeroed in on Harry. With a swift, no-nonsense motion, Professor Snape precisely lowered the Sorting Hat onto Harry's head, stepping back immediately after. The hat's brim slid down, completely obscuring Harry's face from view.

The minutes stretched out. She couldn't help but wonder what emotions were playing out beneath the tattered brim. The entire hall seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting for the hat to break the silence.

Finally, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!" A ripple of relief and jubilation washed over the crowd, and Falcon watched as Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table. His new housemates enthusiastically patted him on the back, and she could hear shouts of "We got Potter!" ringing through the air.

Amidst the sea of red and gold, her eyes caught a familiar face. It was the Weasley girl—Ginny, she remembered now. The girl was beaming at Harry with what could only be described as unveiled adoration.

A flutter of anxiety tingled in her chest as a girl named Ophelia Bones was called. Soon, Falcon would be sitting on that stool and everyone would be staring at her.

The hat barely grazed the girl's head before shouting, "Hufflepuff!" Ophelia beamed as she went to sit next to a girl who looked so much like her it was impossible to deny their sisterly relation. Falcon felt a pulse of worry; Would Harry be disappointed if she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor like him and their parents?

Her heart rate ticked up a notch when Professor Snape, voice tinged with boredom, read, "Isla Fawley." Isla nervously approached the stool and sat. Falcon felt her palms getting clammy as she watched the hat ponder briefly before announcing, "Ravenclaw!" Isla's relief was palpable as she joined her new house, but Falcon's anxiety only intensified.

By the time Astoria Greengrass's name rang through the hall, Falcon's hands were trembling uncontrollably, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out the surrounding chatter.

Astoria moved to the stool with a serene confidence that Falcon couldn't help but envy at that moment. As the hat hesitated longer this time, Falcon's breathing became shallow, her chest tightening. Finally, the hat declared, "Slytherin!" Astoria calmly joined her table as the first to be sorted there.

As the ceremony continued, Falcon felt Theo's hand tighten around her own, as if sensing her mounting distress. She tried to take a steadying breath, but her lungs felt constricted. Her name would be called soon, and when she thought of meeting the crowd's gaze, a painful knot of apprehension formed in her stomach.

Next to be sorted was Pansy Parkinson, the girl with the elfin face and bobbed hair, from earlier. As the girl cut through the remaining first-years waiting to be sorted, Falcon could perceive a hard edge to her eyes, a certain calculating glint that suggested she was anything but fragile.

When the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, it seemed to deliberate for only a few moments before announcing, "Slytherin!" Pansy gave a small, satisfied smile as she made her way to the Slytherin table.

Falcon heard her name. It was her turn. She felt Theo release her hand, but she was immobile. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Severus skimmed down the parchment and called, "Falcon Potter."

As he looked up, he watched the emotions play across the young girl's face. Her eyes widened, her cheeks paled, and her hand, which had been holding his son's, trembled slightly as Theodore let go. Falcon seemed glued to her spot, paralyzed by some invisible force. With a small nudge from his son, she finally began to move, her steps hesitant and her body rigid.

As she approached him, Severus sighed inwardly, a sign of impatience he wouldn't allow to manifest externally. It was as if she were walking towards her own witch-burning rather than a simple Sorting Ceremony. By the time she stood before him, her breathing was shallow and rapid, her lips were slightly parted as if struggling for air, and her eyes darted around the room as if seeking an escape.

Just as Severus was about to gesture for her to sit on the stool, a sudden, inexplicable gust of wind blew through the Great Hall. The floating candles flickered and then extinguished, plunging the room into darkness only broken by moonlight filtering in through the overcast sky. Before anyone could react, Falcon's legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

The hall erupted in a collective gasp, but Severus moved swiftly, kneeling down beside her still form. First, he checked her pulse with his thumb. Satisfied it was steady but rapid, he gently felt her forehead and the back of her head, ensuring there were no concerning bumps or signs of trauma. Content with his quick assessment, he finally drew his wand.

"Renervate," he muttered, directing the spell at the fallen girl.

Falcon's eyes flickered open, meeting his as he crouched beside her.

For a moment, Severus allowed himself a semblance of kindness, his voice barely audible, "It's going to be fine, child. You only need to sit on the stool. Can you stand?"

Slowly, the girl nodded, and with that, Severus rose, extending a hand to help her back to her feet.

She was still visibly trembling. After helping her sit on the stool, Severus gently positioned the Sorting Hat on the girl's head, its tattered brim falling over her face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his husband, and the new pink-haired Professor Tonks, wands aloft, reigniting the floating candles. One by one, they flickered to life, bathing the Great Hall in a soft, magical glow once more.

After a minute, the hat's flap opened and announced, "Slytherin!"

Severus lifted the hat from Falcon's head and, guiding her shaky steps, personally walked her over to his table of Slytherins. There, he handed her over to one of his trusted prefects, a sixth-year girl named Penny, who greeted her with a nod and a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"As you were," Severus muttered, pulling away to reclaim his post at the front of the hall. As he glanced up, his eyes met Dumbledore's. The older wizard's expression was one of thinly-veiled disappointment, tinged with a flicker of incredulity.

Of course, Albus would be disappointed. A Potter in Slytherin disrupted his neat little narrative, didn't it? Well, the Hat had spoken. She was in his house now, whether the old man liked it or not.

With a soft sigh, Severus unrolled the parchment before him, eyes dancing quickly over the inked names. One by one, he called them out. Each name was followed by the brief but agonizing pause of the Sorting Hat's deliberation, the hushed anticipation of the crowd, and then finally, applause—polite, enthusiastic, or subdued—as each student found a new home among one of the four long tables.

He went through several names this way before finally settling on the name he had been both dreading and longing to see.

"Theodore Snape," he called.

His son approached, stiff but determined as he sat on the stool. Severus lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head. After a moment that felt like an eternity, the hat announced, "Slytherin!"

Severus couldn't help the upward twitch of his mouth as his son joined the Slytherin table, taking a seat next to Falcon. He was both proud and a little concerned to note that his son was the only boy sorted into Slytherin this year.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed his husband Remus clapping enthusiastically, a broad grin on his face. He saw Theodore waffle between looking embarrassed and pleased, clearly touched, but not sure how to handle the public praise.

The last student—Romilda Vane— was sorted into Gryffindor amidst murmurs and applause.

Rolling up the parchment, Severus flicked his wand to banish it and the stool. With a precise snap of his fingers, he summoned a house-elf to transport the Sorting Hat back to its yearly residence in Dumbledore's office.

As the elf took hold of the Sorting Hat, its flap twitched, clearly annoyed. "Ah, back to the stuffy confines of the Headmaster's office, huh?" it huffed, tone tinged with disdain. "As if my insights are only required once a year. I suppose wisdom is seasonal in this establishment."

Merlin save me, from a sassy Sorting Hat, Severus thought.

The house-elf looked uncertain for a moment.

Severus simply arched an eyebrow. "Off you go," he directed, his voice as dry as ever, dismissing the elf and its grumbling cargo.

After the house-elf disappeared with a crack, Severus took his seat between Dumbledore and Remus. Under the table, he felt Remus' hand seek out his own and squeeze it.

"Attention, students!" Dumbledore's voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, effectively silencing the room. "I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Nymphadora Tonks. She brings with her an enthusiasm that will surely make up for her lack of experience."

"Good luck, Professor," Dumbledore added.

Though the Headmaster's tone was courteous, Severus recognized the underlying condescension for what it was. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips; he knew all too well the pressure the Ministry had put on Dumbledore to "get with the times" by hiring a woman for the post.

He glanced curiously over at Harry Potter and his Gryffindor comrades, who were clapping vigorously for the new professor.

Dumbledore continued, "We are also introducing a tutoring program this year for students who may need extra assistance. The program will cover core subjects like Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Skilled upper-year students and select faculty will be available for individual or small group sessions. If you feel you could benefit from extra guidance, or if you wish to offer your skills as a tutor, please see our Professor of Student Affairs—Remus Lupin."

"And finally," Dumbledore's tone shifted to one of gravity, "as some of you may know, Peter Pettigrew has recently escaped from Azkaban. As a security measure, Dementors will be guarding the school for the foreseeable future."

Guarding.

Severus scoffed inwardly. The use of the word was as inaccurate, as it was misleading. Dementors protected nothing; they only induced fear and sucked the life out of the innocent.

The old man continued, "Let us think of their presence not only as protection, but also an… educational opportunity."

"However, I must warn the students…and the staff…," he said, gesturing to the professors. "It is not in a Dementor's nature to be forgiving. Do not give them a reason to doubt your integrity."

"Let the feast begin," Dumbledore proclaimed, waving his hand as plates filled with food appeared before them.

For a moment, the Great Hall was subdued. Slowly, hesitant murmurs began to ripple through the student body. Then, as if collectively deciding to set aside their concerns for the time being, the conversations grew in volume and laughter gradually began to punctuate the air.

As Severus idly poked at his food, he mulled over Dumbledore's words.

Educational opportunity? More like a twisted experiment, thought Severus.

Dumbledore had a knack for wrapping perilous situations in the guise of learning experiences, a tendency that seemed to grow more pronounced with age. It was as if the years had not only given him wisdom but also a certain entitlement to manipulate the people around him, however dangerous the results might be.

His mind couldn't help but wander to the evening's earlier events. Falcon Potter collapsing during the Sorting Ceremony was perplexing enough, but the simultaneous extinguishing of all the candles in the Great Hall struck him as something more than mere coincidence.

His thoughts veered to their encounter in Knockturn Alley, the flickering street lamps, the explosive shattering of glass. It was hard not to draw parallels between that incident and tonight. Could it all be just accidental magic, or was there more to it? Falcon's magic seemed unusually responsive to her emotional state.

Considering these incidents, Severus couldn't shake off the growing suspicion that there was more to the girl than met the eye.

Severus looked across the Great Hall, his eyes landing on the Slytherin table. Theodore sat there, animated and smiling, clearly at ease with Falcon Potter beside him. Severus found himself wondering what kind of chaos he might be inviting into his home by letting their friendship continue. The girl was undoubtedly an enigma wrapped in volatility.

Yet, as he watched his son's face light up in Falcon's company, Severus knew he couldn't, in good conscience, sever their bond. The genuine happiness on Theodore's face was something he had not seen enough, and it tugged at a paternal instinct he often had to suppress given his role.

His focus shifted slightly and caught Draco Malfoy's gaze, also fixated on Falcon. Draco's expression was harder to read, a blend of curiosity and, perhaps, hunger? Severus shuddered while wondering what the spoiled Malfoy heir made of this unpredictable new addition to their house.

The clatter of dishes and chatter began to subside as the feast came to an end. Severus observed as his Slytherin prefects stood up, signaling to the first-year students to follow them. Theodore caught his eye for a moment, offering a cautious smile before joining the procession out of the Great Hall.

As the students filtered out, Severus turned to Remus, who was finishing a conversation with Professor McGonagall.

"You know the drill," Severus said in a low voice, "I'll be late tonight. I intend to nip any risk-taking tendencies in the bud before my Slytherins get too creative."

Remus sighed wearily, "Poppy recommended Teddy stay overnight in the hospital wing, so I'll be staying with him."

Severus nodded his head in acknowledgement as he rose from the table. With a final glance at his husband, he turned and made his way out of the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him. The hallways were quieter now, most of the students having already been escorted to their respective common rooms.

He descended a series of stone staircases, each one taking him further into the bowels of the castle. The air grew noticeably cooler. Finally reaching the lowest level, he approached the door to the Slytherin common room. After a moment's pause, he pushed it open.

The emerald-green lamps cast their glow on the young faces turned toward him, a mix of curiosity and guardedness in their eyes. The older students had already retreated to their dormitories, leaving only the newcomers awaiting instruction. Here, among these familiar walls and banners, Severus felt a different kind of responsibility. It was one that had nothing to do with teaching potions or maintaining discipline and everything to do with shaping the future of the house he had once called home.

"Attention, first years," Severus's voice echoed in the common room, immediately silencing any residual chatter. All eyes shifted to him as he paced in front of the fireplace, its green flames casting flickering shadows on the walls.

"Welcome to Slytherin House. Here, we value cunning, ambition, and resourcefulness above all else," he began, locking eyes with each student in turn to ensure his words were sinking in.

"You are expected to maintain a high standard of academic performance. Study rooms are available and should be used wisely," he said, his voice authoritative and stern. "Bedtime for first years is strictly at ten o'clock. No exceptions."

"As for house expectations," he continued, "You will represent Slytherin in everything you do. That means excelling not just in the classroom, but also in your dealings with other students and faculty."

Concluding his litany of rules and expectations, Severus scanned the room one final time, letting his gaze linger on each young face. Their futures, their potential, hung palpably in the air—a burden and a privilege he took seriously. When his eyes met his son's, the weight of his dual roles as his head-of-house and father came into sharp focus. Theodore's expression was apprehensive. Severus suspected his son was unsure how to navigate their relationship in this new setting.

His breath caught as he recalled their strained parting earlier that morning.

"Theodore, please stay behind," he said quietly, his gaze briefly flicking to Falcon's, whose hand was still clutched by his son.

The other first years rose, shooting curious glances at Theodore and Falcon as they filed out of the room. When they were gone, Severus' gaze softened just a fraction. "You may go, Miss Potter," he said, dismissing her, though he allowed a hint of kindness to lace his tone. "The prefects will guide you to the first-year girls' dormitory."

As she retreated, Severus turned his attention back to his son, the air in the room growing heavy. "We need to talk," he began.

Severus walked over to an obscure door to the side of the Slytherin common room, a door that most students would assume led to a storage closet or perhaps a professor's office. Placing his hand on it, he muttered an incantation under his breath. The door dissolved, giving way to a cloudy archway. Severus motioned for Theodore to step through it, following him into their family's quarters.

Theodore glanced around. "Where's Remus?" he asked.

"Remus is at the hospital wing," Severus answered, removing his outer robe and hanging it carefully. "Teddy broke his leg during the Blue Moon and Madam Pomfrey thought it best to keep him overnight for observation."

Severus motioned for him to sit on the couch, then took a seat himself, deliberately leaving a small gap between them. The air was thick with unspoken words, and for a moment, Severus wondered where to begin. He opted for honesty.

"Firstly, I owe you an apology," Severus began, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "The manner in which I left you this morning was unfair. I should not have awakened you so brusquely, nor left you at the Weasley's without proper explanation."

Severus looked at his son, taking in the slight furrow between his brows, the tension in his young face. "The point is, you deserved better from me. A proper goodbye, an explanation, and not to be left hanging with concerns you should not have to bear."

For a moment, the young boy simply looked at him, his eyes a swirl of emotions Severus couldn't quite read. And then, as if a dam had broken, tears started to stream down his son's cheeks.

Severus felt his own chest tighten at the sight. It was rare to see his son so openly vulnerable, and the realization that he was the cause of his son's pain was almost too much to bear.

"I thought you were still mad at me," Theodore said, his voice quivering. "…and then the dementors on the train…"

The word 'dementors' struck Severus like a physical blow. He had been so wrapped up in fulfilling his duties that he'd forgotten the additional layer of stress his son would have experienced today.

Severus moved closer, bridging the gap he had deliberately left earlier, and extended his hand to place it gently over Theodore's. "I can't promise I'll always be the father you deserve, but I can promise to strive to be better. Can you forgive me?"

Theodore smiled softly, his eyes red but also filled with a hesitating hope.

Severus extended his arm invitingly. As Theodore leaned into him, he heard a muffled, "I forgive you." He let his fingers drift to the back of Theodore's head, lightly carding through the boy's hair.

Severus took a moment to revel in the restored peace between him and his son before pulling back.

"I noticed you were the only boy sorted into Slytherin this year," he said.

His son's eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, can you believe it? I'll have the whole dorm to myself. It's going to be wicked!"

Before Severus could comment on his son's use of slang, an insistent knock echoed from the archway. Severus' eyes narrowed as he got up to dissolve the opaque barrier. A panicked Slytherin prefect stood there, her eyes wide with urgency.

"Sir, it's the Potter girl. She can't breathe!"

"Lead the way," he commanded, throwing a significant look at Theodore. "Stay here; I'll be back as soon as I can."

Severus followed the panicked prefect back into the Slytherin common room and swept up the stairs before bursting into the first-year girl's dormitory. Severus's eyes quickly assessed the scene. Falcon was on her bed, her face tinged with a disturbing shade of blue, gasping for air and clutching her chest. Nearby, Pansy Parkinson looked pale and wide-eyed, backed into a corner. A lone doxy buzzed angrily around the room.

With a flick of his wand, Severus silently immobilized the doxy and banished it from the room. Scooping Falcon into his arms, he wasted no time in making his way out. As he sped through the common room and into the dungeon's maze-like corridors, he sensed Theodore trailing behind him. His conscience pricked at his son's disobedience, but the urgency of the moment allowed for no distractions.

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeons and into the upper floors, he finally burst into the hospital wing.

"Severus, what's happened?" Remus exclaimed, already at Teddy's bedside.

"Bad reaction to a doxy bite, I suspect," Severus replied, his voice taut with urgency as he laid Falcon on an adjacent bed. "Poppy, antivenins and possibly a Breathing Elixir, now."

Madam Pomfrey rushed to gather the necessary potions from her cabinet. Severus noticed Remus beckon Theodore over to where he sat and pull the wide-eyed boy into his lap.

"Drink," Severus commanded, tilting Falcon's head back slightly as he held her mouth open. Madam Pomfrey carefully poured a series of potions into the young girl's mouth. Falcon choked and coughed, but Severus maintained his firm grip, ensuring that she ingested as much of the liquid as possible.

Within moments, the bluish tint started to fade from Falcon's face, and her breathing began to ease. His gaze momentarily shifted to Theodore. The boy clung to Remus, his face a pallid mask of horror.

"She's going to be fine," he assured his son.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

The world swirled in a haze around Falcon. Was she underwater? Colors blurred together.

Voices floated to her ears, distant and indistinct.

So, not underwater.

Each breath felt like lifting a boulder, an effort that consumed all her focus. Slowly, painfully, clarity started to return. The murmur of voices morphed into actual words.

A man's voice, tinged with annoyance, said, "I suspect one of the first-year girls must have let a doxy loose in their dormitory. Miss Potter was bitten, and she's had a severe reaction."

Her vision cleared by degrees, shapes resolving from the blur into distinct forms—walls, beds, people.

Where was she? Who were these people?

She remembered drowning.

No, not drowning, choking—as bitter liquid after bitter liquid was poured down her throat.

Falcon became restless and started to squirm. It was then that she noticed the feel of the odd cloth she was dressed in—scratchy, unlike the satiny feel of her own pajamas. The fabric was thin, almost papery, clinging to her in a way that made her keenly aware it was not her own. A twinge of anxiety coursed through her as she tried to sit up, but a firm hand on her shoulder pushed her back onto the bed.

"You'll be staying here tonight, Miss Potter," a woman's voice declared. Falcon felt her head being gently lifted and another liquid was poured down her throat. This one wasn't bitter. It tasted like the smell of spring.

Falcon could feel the pull of sleep tugging at her consciousness.

Just as her eyes were about to flutter shut, she felt a small, cool hand lightly touch her forehead. She vaguely wondered who it could be. But before she could fully grasp the thought, a whispered voice reached her ears.

"Please don't die."

Theo.

She tried to answer, but darkness pulled her under.

…

..

.

The first awareness to pierce her subconscious was the scent of lavender. She breathed it in deeply, welcoming the sense of calm it brought before forcing open her eyes. After adjusting to the dimness, momentary confusion set in before realizing she must be in the Hogwarts infirmary. Strands of moonlight cut through the darkness, spilling onto the white sheets of the beds and casting a silvery glow on the vast room.

Her eyes wandered and found Theo, whose slight form was nestled securely with his stepfather in an upholstered Victorian rocking chair. Though his eyes were closed, Professor Lupin was gently rocking him. She watched as Theo rested against the older man, one of his arms tucked securely between them while the other lay limp, draped over the armrest.

A sudden touch on her forehead jolted her. Startled, she jerked her head to see Professor Snape withdrawing his hand. The smell of lavender wafted around her more strongly.

"My apologies for startling you," the man said softly.

Falcon glanced around, her eyes flitting momentarily to the windows before refocusing on the man's face.

"Is Theo sick?" Falcon asked, her eyes drifting back to her friend.

"Sick with worry, perhaps," he replied. "You gave us all quite a scare."

Falcon's eyes wandered to a painting on the wall depicting Aesop's fable of a house-elf delicately removing a thorn from a manticore's paw. The manticore winked at her.

"I'm sorry," Falcon finally murmured.

The man sighed. "That is not something you need to apologize for, Miss Potter. Do you remember what happened?"

An image of an argument with Pansy Parkinson emerged within her mind. The elfin girl's eyes had been filled with venomous hatred as she pulled a doxy out of her trunk and hurled it at Falcon. A surge of indignation welled up inside her, mingling with an unspoken vow to settle the score.

She hesitated before shaking her head. "No, I don't remember."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

Involuntarily, Falcon's hand moved to her mouth as she succumbed to a nervous habit her Papa often chastised her over. Professor Snape gently rescued her nails from her teeth.

"Is my Papa coming?" she ventured, a knot forming in her stomach.

"We've been unable to reach him," Professor Snape answered, avoiding her eyes.

Falcon felt a tightness constrict her throat as she willed herself not to cry, but despite her efforts, a lone tear betrayed her, tracing a wet path down her cheek. Again, the man sighed.

"For now, rest. You're still recovering."

Her eyelids seemed to agree with his advice as they suddenly felt heavy, but she managed one last, lingering glance at Theo before surrendering to sleep.