Solara Lovegood and the Shadow of the Dragon

Chapter VI: The Talking Hat

The train screeched to a halt at a place called Hogsmeade Station and the excited chatter of students filled the air. Solara and Hermione stepped off together, their robes swishing in the crisp evening breeze. The towering silhouette of the castle loomed in the distance, its windows glowing warmly against the darkening sky.

Hermione sighed, brushing her curls from her face as they waited for the crowd to disperse. "I feel awful we couldn't find Trevor. Poor Neville must be worried sick."

Solara glanced down briefly, smoothing the front of her robes. Her lips quirked into an unreadable expression. "Yes, such a shame," she replied lightly, steering her attention back to the task at hand. She nudged Hermione gently. "But look on the bright side: we're here. Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the mention of the school, though her brow furrowed as she noticed Solara effortlessly lifting her trunk with a flick of her wand. The trunk hovered smoothly beside her, trailing like a loyal pet, while Vhagar remained stubbornly perched atop it like a stone gargoyle—still angry, still wary.

"You mastered Wingardium Leviosa?" Hermione exclaimed, crossing her arms. "You didn't think to mention that earlier? I could've used the help when I struggled with my own trunk!"

Solara's lips curved into an amused smile. "I told you on the train, didn't I? I prefer to keep my things close. This just ensures I don't lose track of them. Besides," she added with a cheeky glint in her eye, "you never asked, and its not like I saw you at King's Cross to offer my assistance."

Hermione huffed, looking halfway between impressed and exasperated. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You really don't miss an opportunity to practice magic."

"Magic is best wielded when practiced often," Solara replied breezily, stepping forward as a booming voice called across the platform.

"Firs'-years! This way!" Hagrid's deep baritone echoed, and both girls turned to see the giant man waving them toward him. Solara's face brightened with recognition, and she leaned toward Hermione.

"That's Hagrid," Solara said softly, her voice tinged with familiarity. "He's the one who accompanied Harry in the Alley of Diagon."

"Diagon Alley," Hermione corrected her instinctively, her tone almost automatic.

Solara's expression shifted, a faint frown creasing her brow. "Allow me to speak how I wish, Hermione of House Granger," she warned, her tone measured yet carrying an undercurrent of regal authority.

Hermione blinked, caught off guard, and gave a small nod. A flicker of worry passed through her gaze, though she quickly turned her attention toward the giant man at the front of the group. "He's huge," she whispered, her voice a mixture of astonishment and apprehension as her eyes took in Hagrid's towering figure.

"He's also kind," Solara assured her before making her way toward him. "Hello, Hagrid."

"Ah, Solara, innit?" Hagrid greeted her with a grin, his bearded face crinkling warmly. "Good to see yeh again. Stick with the group now, we'll be off ter the boats in a moment." Hermione looked curious but had no time to ask further questions as the enormous half-giant loomed over the rest of the first-years, gesturing them toward the path leading to the Black Lake. Hagrid flashed a broad grin, attempting to put the nervous group at ease. "Right then," he bellowed, "leave yer luggage here. It'll all be taken up to yer dormitories fer ya. No need ter worry 'bout a thing."

The Granger offered a polite smile as well, the curiosity still burning in her auburn eyes.

Most students obediently stepped away from their belongings, eager to follow instructions, but Solara hesitated. Her sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, assessing the efficiency—or lack thereof—of such a system. She wasn't about to leave her carefully packed belongings to the mercy of unseen hands. With a pointed glance, she continued levitating her trunk, observing the commotion.

Hermione, standing nearby, watched her for a moment before asking, "Would it be against school rules to take mine along, too," she said, her voice thoughtful. She looked up at Hagrid.

Hagrid gave a good-natured chuckle, shaking his head. "Suit yerselves. But it's a fair trek from the boats to the castle, mind you. Don't go complainin' later when yer arms start feelin' like lead."

Solara smirked faintly at his warning. "I think we'll manage."

The moment the words left her lips, Hermione excused herself to retrieve her things, leaving Solara standing with her floating trunk and watching the gathering crowd.

"Blimey, he's huge," Solara's sharp ears caught the red-haired boy mutter to Harry, his voice cutting through the chatter just behind her.

She wheeled around, spying him instantly amidst the throng of children. "Harry! Red-haired boy!" she called out, her clear voice rising over the bustle.

Harry's head shot up at the sound of his name, and Ron elbowed him lightly. "She's talking to you."

"To both of you," Solara clarified as she approached, her floating trunk trailing obediently behind her like a dutiful servant. "Impressive, isn't he? Hagrid, I mean."

"It's Ronald Weasley, by the way, and yeah, he's massive," Ron said, his tone still tinged with awe. His gaze shifted to the trunk hovering effortlessly at Solara's side and the menacing bird of prey perched atop it. He let out a low whistle. "That's one mean-looking owl. And how are you even doing that? We've only just got our wands."

Solara smirked, a glint of amusement in her golden eyes. "Magic, of course. The Wingardium Leviosa charm, to be precise."

Ron blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. "You can already do that? Whoa, I've barely got my wand out of the box."

Harry tilted his head, a mix of curiosity and respect in his expression. "Isn't that supposed to be something we learn at Hogwarts?"

"It is," Solara admitted, clearly pleased with their reactions. "But I've always believed in a head start. Why wait to learn what you can practice now?"

Ron let out a low chuckle, though his tone was laced with a hint of disbelief. "Well, you've got more guts than me. I'd be afraid of blowing something up."

"Controlled experimentation minimizes risk," Solara replied with a playful shrug. "Besides, practice makes perfect."

Before the conversation could continue, Hagrid's booming voice called out directions, and Hermione reappeared from the luggage area, her arms laden with her own belongings. She eyed Solara's floating trunk, her expression still a mixture of admiration and exasperation.

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me," Hermione sighed but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. "You're insufferable."

"Perhaps," Solara said lightly, turning back to Harry and Ron expectantly.

"I suppose you'll be sticking with us, then?" Ron asked, giving Solara a sidelong glance.

"Seems like a good idea," Solara replied smoothly. "I think I've had enough wandering for one day."

Harry looked at the small boats with curiosity, his green eyes glimmering in the dim light. "These take us across the lake?"

"Aye, they do," Hagrid said from up ahead. "Four to a boat, no more!"

Hermione, already stepping into the nearest boat, heaved her belongings over the edge with an exasperated grunt, then gestured for them to join her. Solara followed suit, climbing in with her usual poise, her wand guiding her trunk to hover effortlessly beside her. With a flick of her wrist, she carefully balanced the trunk's weight before settling it on the boat's floor. The moment her trunk hit the wood, Vhagar let out an irritated hoot and flapped her wings, taking flight as if offended by the rocking motion of the vessel. Solara's sharp gaze followed the owl as it soared into the misty air, a wry smile tugging at her lips. She caught the faintest glimmer of approval in Hermione's glance but said nothing, instead letting her attention shift to the dark, glassy surface of the lake. It mirrored the night sky above, scattered with stars, while the towering silhouette of Hogwarts loomed in the distance, its warm lights gleaming like scattered jewels.

Harry and Ron quickly scrambled aboard, their arms empty of trunks—apparently trusting Hagrid's assurance that they'd be taken care of. Within moments, the small vessel began to glide silently across the water, the soft lapping of waves against its sides the only sound.

The vast expanse of the Black Lake stretched out before them, its surface shimmering with reflections of the castle's glowing windows. The towering spires of Hogwarts grew closer with every passing second, and Solara felt a quiet thrill of anticipation.

"This is it," she said softly, her voice carrying an undercurrent of excitement.

Hermione, her earlier frustration forgotten, nodded fervently. "The start of something amazing."

Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance before Ron muttered, "Hope it's not as terrifying as it looks."

"Don't worry," Solara said with a knowing smile. "Whatever's ahead, we'll manage."

Once the boats docked, Solara efficiently maneuvered her trunk onto the shore with a flick of her wand, her movements precise and fluid despite the weight. Hermione, on the other hand, wrestled with her own belongings, grunting as she hauled them onto solid ground. Solara briefly considered offering assistance but thought better of it, sensing Hermione's stubborn determination to manage on her own.

As the group began their ascent up the winding path to the castle, the misty air growing cooler, Solara caught sight of her great horned owl, Vhagar. The bird swooped down from the night sky with a dramatic flourish, her wings cutting through the air as she landed on the edge of the hovering trunk. Vhagar's amber eyes gleamed in the moonlight, fixed on Solara with an expression that seemed to radiate disdain for the entire affair. The owl ruffled her feathers with a sharp click of her beak, making her displeasure known. Solara smirked, murmuring, "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Vhagar. We've only just begun."

Just before the students were ushered into an impressive antechamber within the castle, Solara and a very winded Hermione lagged behind, their trunks set down carefully beside the cold, stone wall. Solara turned her attention to Vhagar, who perched imperiously atop her trunk, feathers slightly ruffled as if to express her lingering irritation.

"I'll be heading inside for a moment," Solara said firmly, her sharp gaze locking with the owl's piercing amber eyes. "But you're to stay with our things. Guard them until we come back. Understood?"

Vhagar clicked her beak in what seemed like grudging acknowledgment, tilting her head slightly, her imposing presence unmistakable even in her stationary post. Hermione, wiping her brow after struggling with her own luggage, glanced at the bird with a mix of admiration and wariness.

"She's definitely no ordinary owl," Hermione murmured, straightening her robes. Solara smirked faintly.

"She's one of a kind," she replied, her tone edged with pride. "And far more reliable than whatever passes for security here."

Though still radiating irritation, Vhagar's sharp eyes began scanning the area as if already surveying for potential threats. Satisfied, Solara smoothed out her own robes and strode into the antechamber alongside Hermione to join the other first-years.

The chamber was awe-inspiring, its ceiling soaring so high it seemed to disappear into the shadows above. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering flames casting a warm, golden glow on the gathering of nervous students. The air thrummed with anticipation, broken only by whispered murmurs and the shuffling of feet.

Solara and Hermione positioned themselves near Harry, and Ron, the four standing in a loosely formed group. Her silvery eyes examined the room, taking in the grandeur of the castle's interior and the expressions of wonder and trepidation on the faces around her. Her heart raced slightly—not from fear, but from the excitement of what was to come. This was it—the beginning of her legacy within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

Before long, the stern figure of Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stepped forward, seemingly appearing from nowhere, her presence commanding immediate silence. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, her voice precise and firm. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a momentous occasion, as your house will be your family here at Hogwarts."

Solara glanced at Hermione, whose lips were pressed tightly together, her nervousness evident despite her best efforts. Harry looked equally apprehensive, while Ron muttered something under his breath about hoping he wouldn't be put in Slytherin.

Before the group could dwell on their thoughts, a voice broke the tense quiet.

"Well, well, Potter."

The drawling tone immediately drew attention. A pale, pointed-faced boy with platinum blond hair stepped through the throng of students, flanked by two hulking boys who seemed more muscle than anything else. For the briefest of moments, Solara wondered if the boy was perhaps another Targaryen trapped under similar circumstances as she. The haughty tilt of his chin and the pale shine of his hair bore a striking resemblance to those following her family's lineage. A belief that was dispelled the moment the boy spoke again, his voice dripping with condescension.

Harry tensed, recognizing him instantly. "Malfoy," he said flatly, his green eyes narrowing.

"You've met?" Solara asked, arching an eyebrow as she studied the boy. His posture and expression radiated an air of superiority that instantly grated on her nerves.

"Briefly," Harry replied, his tone clipped. "At Madam Malkin's."

"Indeed," Malfoy said, his cold gray eyes sweeping over Harry's companions. His gaze lingered on Ron's hand-me-down robes, a flicker of disdain passing across his features before sliding to Solara. His expression shifted to one of mild curiosity. "And you are?"

"Solara Lovegood," she replied coolly, tilting her head slightly. "And you?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said, his lips curling into a smirk as though the name itself should inspire reverence. "Pleasure to meet someone who, I presume, comes from a respectable lineage."

Solara's eyes glinted dangerously, but she kept her tone light. "Presume all you like. You might be surprised by how many respectable things exist outside your assumptions."

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, turning his attention to Ron. His cold gaze raked over the Weasley boy's patched-up appearance with open disdain. "And you must be a Weasley. I'd recognize that hair anywhere. I hear your family's… extensive."

Ron's ears turned red, his fists clenching at his sides. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

"Oh, nothing," Draco said airily, though his smirk deepened. "Just that I've heard they don't mind spreading their, er, resources a bit thin. Must be hard to keep track of everything when there's so many mouths to feed."

Ron flushed angrily, stepping forward, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Malfoy, why don't you stand aside? You're blocking the corridor," Harry said sharply, his voice steady.

Draco ignored him, his smirk deepening as he eyed Ron again. Solara, however, was already stepping closer to the white-haired boy, her posture deceptively casual.

Ron opened his mouth, but Solara cut in, "Careful, Malfoy," she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. "Insults have a way of circling back when you least expect them."

Draco raised an eyebrow, though the hint of wariness in his eyes betrayed him. "Is that a threat?"

"Just an observation," Solara replied with a sharp, almost predatory smile. "But if you're the sort to take observations personally, maybe you should think twice before opening your mouth. A word of advice—mocking people's families isn't a great way to win allies. Not that I imagine you're very good at making them."

Draco's pale cheeks flushed faintly, but he straightened his posture, brushing off the remark. "We'll see about that," he said coolly.

Before the exchange could escalate, McGonagall's crisp voice cut through the tension. "First years, follow me."

"Enjoy your time here," the boy said, sneering one last time, before turning on his heel with a dramatic swirl of his robes. "I doubt it'll last long. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle."

As they walked away, Solara watched them go, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Charming, isn't he?"

"More like a slimy git," Ron muttered darkly, his fists still clenched.

"Agreed," Harry said, exhaling heavily. "That's Malfoy for you."

Solara smiled faintly. "Well, if he's the standard of 'respectable,' I think I'll pass."

Ron laughed despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I like you, Solara. You've got guts."

"You've said that before," she replied.

"Then I'll say it again, for emphasis," the boy grinned.

Hermione, who had remained unusually quiet during the exchange, finally spoke up. "Draco's unbearable, but we shouldn't let him get to us. Hogwarts is too big a place to let someone like him ruin it."

"Wise words," Solara said lightly, though her gaze lingered on the corridor where Malfoy had disappeared. "But still, something about him... I'll keep my distance for now, but I'm keeping him in my sights."

The students fell into line, as Solara, Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged glances before following McGonagall down a corridor and through a set of enormous double doors.

The Great Hall opened before them, vast and breathtaking. The ceiling glittered with the night sky, a thousand floating candles illuminating the four long tables stretching to the far end. Students in black robes filled the tables, all turning to look as the first years filed in. At the front of the hall stood a staff table, and before it, a stool with a patched, ancient hat perched atop it.

"Wow," Hermione whispered, her awe mirroring Solara's own.

"It's incredible," Solara murmured back, her voice barely audible over the buzz of whispers from the older students.

Harry seemed lost in the sight, his nervousness momentarily replaced by wonder, while Ron muttered something about how the ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky.

McGonagall gestured for the first years to stop near the front. "When I call your name, you will come forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and be sorted into your house."

The room fell silent as the hat stirred, its folds forming a mouth. Solara felt a thrill of anticipation run through her. The journey to Hogwarts had been exciting, but now, standing on the precipice of her sorting, she realized this moment would define the next chapter of her life. Names were called and the sorting ceremony was well underway. Solara watched intently as one by one, students stepped forward to don the Sorting Hat. The ancient artifact seemed alive as it announced their houses with resounding declarations that echoed through the Great Hall. Applause greeted each announcement, with each house cheering for its new members.

"Granger, Hermoine," Professor McGonagall called out.

"Good fortune," Solara whispered.

"Thanks," the girl replied, before stepping forward to take her place on the stool. The Great Hall hushed once again as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head.

It didn't take long for the hat to decide. "Gryffindor!" it announced.

The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, and Hermione looked both relieved and ecstatic as she hurried to join her new housemates.

"Longbottom, Neville," came the next call. The nervous boy, still distraught over the loss of his toad, stumbled up the steps to the stool.

After a brief pause, the hat announced, "Gryffindor!" The declaration seemed to surprise Neville as much as anyone, his wide eyes darting toward the cheering table before he managed an awkward smile and shuffled off to join them.

After several more names had been called, she finally heard her own called out.

"Lovegood, Solara."

The name echoed across the hall, and every eye turned toward her. Solara took a steadying breath, her expression calm and confident, as she stepped forward with measured grace. She seated herself on the stool, feeling the weight of the Sorting Hat settle on her head.

"Ah, an interesting one," the hat's voice purred in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine. "Ambition, sharp wit, and a thirst for knowledge. But where to place you?"

Solara said nothing, allowing the hat to continue its musings.

"Gryffindor?" the hat offered. "You are no stranger to bravery. I can see that you've faced situations requiring nerve and daring. But bravery without loyalty? And chivalry? Hmm. No, Gryffindor isn't the right fit for you."

Solara frowned slightly. "I disagree. Bravery isn't diminished by a lack of chivalry. It's about standing your ground, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," the hat replied, unbothered. "But Gryffindor's bravery goes hand in hand with a certain selflessness. You, Solara, do not fight for others—you fight for yourself. Even in your moments of courage, your actions are calculated, not instinctive. A Gryffindor would jump without thinking; you, however, would pause to weigh the consequences."

Solara's frown deepened. "And that's a flaw?"

"Not at all," the hat said with a chuckle. "It's simply not what defines Gryffindor."

The hat shifted its tone. "Hufflepuff, then?"

Solara felt her lips twitch, almost into a smile. "I don't think I'm cut out for Hufflepuff."

"And you'd be correct," the hat agreed with a knowing chuckle. "While you are hardworking, your motivation is rooted in personal ambition. You lack a sense of selfless loyalty, and humility is... well, let's just say it isn't your strong suit."

Solara didn't argue, silently agreeing with its assessment.

"Ravenclaw seems a more fitting choice," the hat continued thoughtfully. "Your love of learning, your cleverness, and your thirst for understanding would make you an ideal candidate. Ravenclaw values the pursuit of wisdom, and you do pursue it—tirelessly, in fact."

Solara felt a flicker of relief but tensed again when the hat's tone became sharp. "However, your pursuit of knowledge is not for the sake of wisdom or enlightenment—it's to fuel your ambitions. Your cunning drives your studies, and while intelligence and creativity abound in you, they are tools for a much larger purpose, aren't they?"

Solara hesitated, then responded coolly, "And what's wrong with that? Wisdom without application is meaningless."

"Indeed," the hat said, almost approvingly. "Which brings us to Slytherin. Ambitious, resourceful, and possessing a sharp mind with the drive to see your plans through. You fit the house of the cunning like a glove."

Solara frowned. "I value learning and knowledge. Slytherin doesn't care for such things as much as Ravenclaw does."

"Oh, but you're wrong there," the hat countered. "Slytherin values knowledge as a means to power, and you crave power just as much as you crave understanding. You have the determination and self-assuredness to shape the world to your will, and that makes you undeniably suited for Slytherin."

"Power and knowledge are not mutually exclusive," Solara replied carefully. "But I don't seek power for its own sake."

"True," the hat admitted, "but you seek it nonetheless—to protect what is yours, to carve your place in the world. That hunger, Solara, that fire, is the essence of Slytherin. You have a mind sharp as any Ravenclaw, but it's tempered with ambition and resourcefulness that would serve you far better in Slytherin. You don't just want to learn, you want to act—and Ravenclaw isn't the place for action."

Solara was silent for a long moment. She had always seen herself as much an intellectual as a warrior, a seeker of knowledge, and had assumed Ravenclaw would be her natural home. But the hat's words rang true, and she couldn't deny the truth in its observations.

"Very well," she said finally, her voice steady. "If you think it's best."

The Sorting Hat chuckled. "Oh, I do."

And then, aloud, it declared, "Slytherin!"

The hall erupted into applause from the Slytherin table, their cheers laced with a mix of excitement and curiosity, while a few surprised murmurs rippled through the other houses. Solara stepped down from the stool, removing the Sorting Hat with quiet dignity. She handed it back to Professor McGonagall, her chin held high and her silvery eyes glinting with unshakable determination.

As she made her way to the Slytherin table, the sea of green and silver welcomed her with open arms. Some clapped enthusiastically, while others appraised her with a mix of intrigue and calculation. Sliding into her seat, she caught Hermione's gaze from across the hall, sitting proudly at the Gryffindor table. Hermione gave her a small, encouraging smile, but Solara couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment. Their paths had diverged almost immediately, and while she was genuinely happy for her new friend, the realization was bittersweet.

"Damn," Solara muttered to herself, her fist balled beneath the table. She had harbored a flicker of hope that she might share a house with Hermione. Hermione's intellect had been a refreshing surprise—sharp, curious, and genuinely engaging. The thought of losing the chance to build a friendship with someone who shared her academic fervor stung more than she cared to admit. Still, Solara couldn't help but feel a pang of envy, as she watched Hermione beam, her happiness genuine. "At least she'll be in her element," Solara thought begrudgingly, though the disappointment remained.

The next name called jarred Solara from her thoughts. "Malfoy, Draco."

The blond boy strode forward with the same air of superiority he carried everywhere, his head held high as though he had already been crowned king of the school. Solara's interest piqued, her sharp eyes narrowing as she watched.

The hat didn't even touch his head before it bellowed, "Slytherin!"

Solara frowned, her lips curling into a small sneer. Of course, he would end up in Slytherin. "Brilliant," she muttered sarcastically, her disappointment mounting. She had already pegged Draco as someone she would rather keep at arm's length, and now he would be one of her housemates. "Bah! What manner of mummery is this? Accursed hat."

Draco sauntered over to the Slytherin table, clearly reveling in the applause from his new housemates. Solara kept her expression neutral, though internally she groaned. She knew she would need to navigate this new dynamic carefully—Malfoy would no doubt test her patience.

When "Potter, Harry" was called, the hall fell into an almost reverent silence, and all eyes turned to the boy with the lightning-shaped scar. Solara's sharp gaze followed him as he stepped forward.

The Sorting Hat appeared to deliberate longer with Harry than with most others, its expressions indecipherable. Solara leaned forward slightly, curious. When the hat finally declared "Gryffindor!" the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers.

Solara leaned back in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the polished wood of the table. Her silvery eyes followed Harry as he was welcomed with enthusiastic cheers from the Gryffindor table. The boy looked awkward yet relieved, his smile hesitant but genuine as he exchanged introductions with his new housemates.

"How utterly predictable," she mused. The Sorting Hat's decision made sense, of course. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the shining beacon of hope in the wizarding world—of course, he belonged with the lions. Yet, a part of her couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. She couldn't deny the curiosity Harry evoked—his circumstances, his fame, and the faint air of mystery surrounding him were like puzzle pieces begging to be assembled. He was someone worth keeping close—not just for his story, but for the opportunities his presence might afford.

"Another one lost to the lions," she murmured under her breath, her voice barely audible over the chatter of the hall. Her lips curled into a faint smirk, though it lacked any real humor. The hat, it seemed, had a knack for separating her from anyone who might prove interesting—or useful.

Next came "Weasley, Ronald." The red-haired boy hesitated, his nerves painfully clear as he stepped forward.

The hat barely touched his head before shouting, "Gryffindor!"

Ron stumbled off the stool, his face lighting up with a grin as he hurried to join Harry and Hermione. Solara watched him for a moment, a soft grin crossing her lips. "Well, there goes the fool," she mused. Though she found Ron largely unimpressive, his presence might have at least provided a modicum of amusement in Slytherin.

She gave the trio a small wave, which they reciprocated warmly. A few snakes sneered at her gesture, but the dragon paid them no mind. Her gaze instead returned to the staff table, where she resumed scanning the professors. Her eyes stopped on a man with a hooked nose, pale skin, and a piercing gaze that seemed to cut through the air.

Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers momentarily stilling on the edge of the polished table. She recognized him immediately—the man from years ago in the Alley of Diagon, the one she had seen absorbed in the Daily Prophet article about Harry Potter. His sharp, assessing stare had been etched into her memory, and now it bore down on the students with the same relentless intensity. It lingered, of course, on Harry Potter, who seemed blissfully unaware of the scrutiny.

Solara could feel the weight of that chilling stare, even from across the hall. But then, as though sensing her attention, his eyes shifted suddenly and locked onto her as she sat along her little corner of Slytherin table.

Solara's breath caught, just for a moment, as the man's dark, unrelenting gaze bore into hers from across the hall. His features were sharp, his expression unreadable, and his eyes—those fathomless black eyes—seemed to strip away every barrier she'd carefully constructed.

She held his gaze, refusing to look away. There was no fear in her silvery eyes, only a calm defiance that belied the slight tension in her shoulders. As before, he was again, watching her as though she were some stranger whose motives remained unclear. His gaze was cold and sharp, assessing her with an intensity that suggested more than mere curiosity. He was correct, of course—there were many layers to her that he had yet to unravel—but that was not the normal look an adult would cast upon a child. There was something unnervingly deliberate about the way he studied her, as if she were a riddle personified, rather than someone simply trying to find her place in the world.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face—not surprise, but a subtle shift, as though filing away some small but significant piece of information.

"He remembers me," she realized, her mind racing.

Slowly, deliberately, she inclined her head, a gesture of acknowledgment that bordered on insolence. If he thought she'd cower beneath that oppressive stare, he would be sorely disappointed.

His lips thinned, but he gave no other indication of his thoughts. With a final, lingering glance, he turned his attention back to the front of the hall, his expression once again unreadable.

Solara exhaled slowly, her mind racing. "Professor Severus Snape," she thought, the name coming unbidden from her studies. Never had she seen an image of him, but his reputation as a formidable Potions Master and staunch defender of his house had preceded him. Now, she could see that his presence was more than mere rumor—it was palpable.

"What is your connection to Potter?" The question swirled in her mind, but she forced herself to remain composed, focusing instead on the present moment and filing the observations away for later.

The Great Hall fell into a deep hush as Professor Dumbledore stood to address the students. His presence was commanding yet warm, a sense of calm settling over the room. Solara turned her attention to the headmaster, momentarily distracted by his welcoming words and gentle, twinkling gaze. Still, her mind lingered on the greasy-haired man at the staff table, trying to piece together the fragmented connections.

The night was just beginning, and the shadows of the unknown stretched long before her.