Journey of Celestia Ravenclaw

Chapter 6: Chapter 5


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Hogwarts castle is something that can’t be described in words. Sure we have all seen the movies and read the books, and they give you the visual aspect, but the truly magical part about that ancient castle is just that, the magic. Now I am a special case as a Ravenclaw, but the magic of the castle is welcoming, warm, yet warning. You are about to step foot into your first proper magical place, where you will spend your most important years that will shape you as a person, and it lulls you into a false sense of security, something I truly wish I had realized before it was too late.

 

-Excerpt from Rowena Ravenclaw’s journals, on Hogwarts.

-

The train ride to Hogwarts is just as described, long, exciting yet boring. It’s hours long and takes you to your new home, or for returning students, home away from home. A couple of other first years entered and occupied my compartment, upon introductions I only gave them my first name, and I didn’t really bother to remember theirs, if they are to be noteworthy I will remember them later.

As per tradition we rode in the boats, but once the castle came into view my breath was taken away. Sure I have seen the movies, and I knew it was visually appealing, but the magic, it was almost overwhelming. As a Ravenclaw it was welcoming me home, its ancient magic seeping through every pore into my very being. I have no words to describe it.

Disembarking from the boat with the gaggle of other firsties, I felt out of place. Sure my body is technically 11, same age as the others, but mentally I am closer to my mid thirties.

Idle thoughts were blown away as a very familiar looking witch met us. “Good evening. I am Professor McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor and Professor of Transfiguration. Follow me into the great hall, where you will be sorted into one of four houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. This house and its members will be your home for the next 7 years. Any issues can be brought to a professor, a prefect or your head of house. Now follow along.”

One thing that always stood out to me, and that she made me remember now is how stern she seems, even to 11 year old children not knowing what is happening next. While I’m not fond of Dumbledore, at least he makes the children feel welcome. Which now that I think about it may also be a detriment.

We follow the Professor into the great hall, and in the back of my mind I can hear Hermoine Granger talking about how the ceiling is enchanted and that she read about it in Hogwarts History. I indulge myself a small smile as I know it’s my mother that enchanted the ceiling.

We come to a stop in a disorganized group at the front of the great hall, and the whispering and staring of other students can be both heard and felt. McGonnagall picks up the sorting hat, -Who my mother say is named Albert-, and unrolls a scroll of parchment.

“Applewood, Phillip.”

The first student walks up to the stool, sits on it and McGonagall places the sorting hat on his head. Only a few moments later a mouth forms on the host and we can hear the shout of “Hufflepluff.”

A dozen or so more students are sorted while I withdraw into my own thoughts, only to be brought back by something I was not expected.

“Greengrass, Astoria.”

Looking at the little witch I take in her features. She’s taller than me, and while I can only see the back of her head I can see her silky blonde hair, walking with grace and no uncertainty as she reaches the stool, turning around I see a glimpse of ice blue eyes before the hat is placed on her head, only for it to sort her in under a second.

“SLYTHERIN.”

As she walks towards the Slytherin table I try to remember anything from the original works about Astoria and her sister Daphne, and realize that anything I “know” about them are from fanfiction. I think they were barely mentioned in the original works, but they are not supposed to be 3 years older than the main characters.

Just a few seconds later McGonagall reads the next name, and my hunch is confirmed. “Greengrass, Daphne”.

A carbon copy of her sister walks up to the stool, and yet again the hat screams “SLYTHERIN.”

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After their sorting I zone out again, I have noticed known names, Cedric Diggory, Angelina Johnson, and I have spotted a certain metamorph amongst the Puffs, but nothing really noteworthy.

The sorting continues on until McGonagall reaches “R”, and she stumbles.

“R-Ravenclaw, Celestia.” A symphony of noises erupt into the great hall, and even Dumbledore looks flummoxed. Were they not aware I was entering this year?

I walk up towards the stool and Albert is placed on my head, and I immediately feel the gently intrusion into my mind.

‘Lady Ravenclaw, welcome to hogwarts.”

I smile at the sentient hat. ‘Thank you Albert, it’s a pleasure to be here. Do you know where I can usually find my sister?’

The hat chuckles in my mind. ‘I have no doubt she will come to you, if not she usually hangs out on the 7th floor outside the tapestry of some dancing trolls.’

Room of Requirments, huh, so that’s where she hangs out.

‘My I must say, Celestia, or is it Emma?’

‘Emma is my past, Celestia is my future’

I can feel the hat shudder, and I realize a certain Tom Marvolo Riddle said something resembling my words in the chamber of secrets, which no doubt Albert is aware of.

‘Indeed, I hope you will find Hogwarts enjoyable, she has missed having a sane, hm, founder? Heir? I can’t tell what you are.’

I find myself giggling slightly. ‘Neither can I Albert, I suppose I’m in the middle.’

‘Indeed, well even if I were to sort you based on your traits, there is no wonder where you are going.’

‘I suppose, oh Albert, one thing I’m curious about. How do you sort 11 year old children into a place they’ll be for 7 years and with no false cases?’

‘Potential my dear, potential. “RAVENCLAW.”

The Ravenclaw erupts into applause and cheers, and Albert is lifted from my head. I turn around to look at the table, I see an excited Flitwick, a stonefaced Snape, and a curious Dumbledore.

These will be seven interesting years.

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