eero7 - Tumblr blog

eero7 · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 1 — Welcome Home

There was a certain kind of hush that came over the mountain at the very end of summer, when the last of the warm winds blew through the trees and the tips of the leaves began to blush red and gold. It meant the start of term was near, and Ilvermorny, though still half-asleep from its long summer slumber, had begun to stir. The enchanted carriages creaked their way up the winding path, drawn by winged elk with silvery antlers, and trunks clattered along behind them like loyal pets eager to return home. Isaac Carver sat with one boot propped on his battered school trunk, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he caught sight of the castle’s stone towers peeking through the mist. There was no feeling in the world quite like returning to school—especially for a seventh-year.

He had polished his Thunderbird pin that morning until it gleamed like gold, though he’d never admit it, and had charmed his curls to sit just-so beneath his hood in case anyone happened to be looking. The start of term always made him feel taller somehow, more important, as if slipping back into the school grounds made everything outside them—summer jobs, strange news reports, his mother’s worried glances—fade into something unimportant and far away. Ilvermorny was where he belonged, and seventh year was supposed to be the one where everything fell into place. He would win the House Duelling Cup, finally beat Willa Grayleaf in Spellcraft Theory, and maybe just maybe, make it through an entire semester without a single detainment from Professor Eckleberry.

Oh, and Willa? She’d already arrived, of course. Probably the night before, tucked away in the library with dust on her sleeves and some ancient Horned Serpent text spread open on her lap. Willa Grayleaf didn’t believe in being late for anything—especially not books, or school, or opportunities to prove she was the cleverest witch in the castle. Isaac had known her since first year, back when she still wore her hair in a single long braid and insisted on correcting professors if they misquoted magical law. These days her braid had been replaced by a messy bun and a collection of ink stains on her fingers, but little else had changed. She was still sharp as flint, quiet as snowfall, and capable of silencing a room with one raised eyebrow—and, for some reason Isaac had never quite figured out, how she is still one of his best friends.

And then there was Elijah Redfeather, who never needed to announce his arrival because somehow the trees always seemed to know when he was near. Isaac had once joked that Elijah didn’t walk so much as appear, and it wasn’t entirely untrue—he had a way of moving through the grounds like he belonged to the mountain itself. A Wampus through and through, Elijah was quiet, steady, and about as easy to read as a cursed deck of tarot cards. He wasn’t much for conversation, unless you asked about defense magic or how to track a Crupsnarl through the woods at night, in which case he could lecture for hours in a low, thoughtful voice that made even the professors pause. He and Isaac didn’t talk all the time, but there was something reliable about Elijah’s presence like knowing the school wards were still up, or that the stars would appear in the same place they always had.

The front gates of Ilvermorny stood wide open, tall and twisting with wrought-iron antlers and silver-leaf vines, as if the mountain itself had grown them. Beyond the gates, the castle stretched up into the clouds like something out of a fairy tale—its steep, pointed towers stacked like spindly hats, windows glittering with stained glass, and stone arches so high they seemed to disappear into the mist. A wide stone bridge crossed a narrow river rushing down from the cliffs, and somewhere far off, an elk called out, deep and echoing, as if announcing the school year had begun.

Isaac Carver pulled his trunk along behind him, his robes flapping in the sharp August wind, and grinned as the castle came into view. No matter how many times he saw it, Ilvermorny still managed to take his breath away. There were dozens of students around him. Some first-years gawping open-mouthed at the towers, others already gossiping about who’d be named Prefect but Isaac scanned the crowd until he spotted a very familiar figure standing just off the path, arms folded, expression unimpressed.

“Late,” said Willa Grayleaf at once, without even looking up from the slip of parchment she was holding. “Not that I’m surprised.”

Isaac reached her with a shrug and a crooked grin. “I’m not late. I’m just… fashionably timed.”

Willa rolled her eyes. She wore the same neat robes as always. No ink stains yet, but Isaac would give it a day. And her Horned Serpent pin had been polished to a mirror shine. “You missed a first-year crying because their enchanted suitcase ran away. So, you’ve already missed the best part.”

Before Isaac could come up with a clever reply, a soft sound of footsteps on stone signaled a third arrival. Elijah Redfeather appeared through the low fog like he’d been carved out of the mountain itself. He said nothing at first, but gave Isaac a nod and Willa a quiet look that, somehow, said more than most full sentences.

“You’re not the last,” Elijah said calmly. “Some of the others haven’t arrived yet. Hogwarts students.”

“Hogwarts?” Isaac repeated, blinking. “The Hogwarts?”

Elijah nodded once. “I heard Buchanan talking to MACUSA staff. They’ve sent a few students. No one said why.”

Willa’s brow furrowed. “That’s… odd. They’ve never done that before. Not even during the war.”

“They’ve changed the wards,” Elijah added quietly. “They’re stronger. I could feel it coming up the mountain. Something’s different this year.”

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, listening to the fluttering of house flags high above, the wind brushing past the gates, and the faint hum of magic in the stones underfoot.

Isaac scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “Well, whoever they are, I hope they’re ready for thunderbirds, fried cornbread, and getting completely outdueled by a seventh-year from New Orleans.”

“Do you think they’ll come for the Equinox?” Willa asked as they climbed the wide marble steps toward the main entrance. “The Hogwarts lot?”

“Maybe,” Elijah murmured. “Or maybe we’ll just wake up and they’ll be here.”

Isaac snorted. “Well, if they’re here to ‘observe,’ I hope someone tells them we don’t exactly have tea with our ghosts or whatever it is they do over there.”

The great doors of Ilvermorny opened before them without so much as a push, swinging wide on golden hinges shaped like curled feathers and talons. Inside, the entrance hall glittered with enchanted light, lanterns bobbing gently in the air like glowing acorns, chandeliers of carved crystal illuminating every inch of the soaring stone ceiling. Warmth spilled from the hearths lining the far walls, and the smell of something wonderful… roast corn, cinnamon apples, and buttered biscuits drifted in from the kitchens below.

But the real attention was on the grand staircase leading into the Hall of Houses, where a line of wide-eyed first-years stood in an awkward row, their school trunks long forgotten beside them. The ceiling of the chamber arched high into a dome painted with stars, and in the center of the floor stood a round platform divided into four equal sections, each etched with the emblem of one of Ilvermorny’s great Houses: the serpentine Horned Serpent, the proud Wampus, the fiery Thunderbird, and the loyal Pukwudgie. Above each quadrant hovered a glowing statue of its creature, faintly transparent and grand as a guardian spirit.

As Isaac and the others took their places along the edge of the room with the returning students, the first-years were led forward one by one. There was no Sorting Hat here, no stool or whispered incantation. At Ilvermorny, it was the Houses that chose you.

The first girl stepped nervously into the center of the platform and a heartbeat later, the crystal Wampus above her gave a mighty stomp, sending a soft shockwave across the floor. She gasped, then smiled, and hurried toward the Wampus section, where cheers erupted from her new housemates.

Isaac leaned toward Willa. “Still think Horned Serpent is the cleverest house, or are you finally ready to admit Thunderbird has the best dramatic flair?”

Willa didn’t even glance at him. “Thunderbird is for people who make things explode by accident.”

“That happened once.”

“Twice,” Elijah added without looking up.

The moment the last first-year was sorted, the platform dimmed and the golden statues above slowly faded, retreating into the dome overhead like spirits returning to sleep. A low chime rang through the hall, and the carved archways at the back swung open, revealing a wide corridor filled with soft candlelight and the delicious scent of something baking.

Isaac stretched his arms behind his head and nudged Willa with his elbow. “Time to eat before Elijah starts judging me for pocketing biscuits again.”

“I don’t judge,” Elijah said calmly. “I observe.”

Students began to pour into the corridor, chatting eagerly now that the formality of the Sorting was over. The first-years, still wide-eyed, were led at the front by prefects from each house, while the older students meandered in small groups toward the dining hall, their footsteps echoing softly off the polished floors.

The Main Dining Hall of Ilvermorny Castle was, in Isaac’s opinion, the best room in the world. Its high ceiling arched like a cathedral, painted with shifting murals that told the school’s history—Thunderbirds soaring across stormclouds, Horned Serpents gliding through silver rivers, and ancient witches walking the mountain slopes with starlight in their palms. Four long house tables stretched from end to end, each lit by rows of floating lanterns that bobbed gently over the heads of the students. Between them ran enchanted trays of steaming food, already filling the room with the mouthwatering smells of roast chicken, maple-glazed squash, cornbread, and pumpkin stew.

Isaac slid into a seat at the Thunderbird table just as a basket of golden rolls passed by, still warm from the oven. He caught one, tore it open, and let the steam hit his face with a sigh of absolute bliss. Willa took her place across from him with a perfectly arranged plate of food, and Elijah—quiet as always—sat beside her with just a cup of cider and a slice of venison.

“Same as last year,” Isaac said around a mouthful. “This is the year I don’t eat myself sick.”

“Already failed,” Willa replied, nodding to the second roll in his hand.

As chatter rose around them and plates clinked and clattered, the sound of a chair scraping at the far end of the hall caught everyone’s attention. Slowly, students turned toward the raised staff table, where Headmistress Josephine Buchanan had risen to her feet.

She stood tall and still, her dark green robes catching the candlelight like moss in moonlight, and though she didn’t raise her voice, the entire room fell silent almost at once.

“Welcome home,” she said, voice even and clear, ringing through the high-arched chamber like music. “To our first-years, may this castle embrace you as it has embraced generations before—curiously, sometimes stubbornly, but always with magic in its bones. And to our returning students, especially our seventh-years” here, several students grinned at each other across the tables, “you step now into your final year not only as learners, but as leaders.”

There was a ripple of applause, though some students shot puzzled glances to one another. Buchanan’s smile did not fade, but her tone shifted slightly, measured, serious, like a pebble dropped into still water.

“This year, Ilvermorny opens its doors a little wider. You’ve no doubt heard whispers, and now I will speak plainly. As Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry rebuilds from the war that shook the very heart of the wizarding world, some of its seventh-year students have accepted the invitation to complete their education here with us. For some, it is truly their final year. For others, it is a second chance at a year that was stolen.”

A murmur spread through the hall like smoke. Heads turned. A few first-years looked confused. But the older students, all of whom remembered the headlines, the fear, the names whispered late at night grew quiet again.

“I ask you,” Buchanan continued, “not to treat them as guests, but as fellow witches and wizards. They are not strangers to magic, only to our mountain. Let them find here what they have lost elsewhere: community, peace, and a place to grow.”

She paused, her gaze scanning the room with that quiet intensity only a headmistress could manage.

“Much is changing in our world,” she said softly. “But the soul of Ilvermorny remains. Strong — Steady — and Rooted in what we share.”

Then, with a twinkle in her eye and a slight lift of her wand, she added, “And now, with respect to all tradition and teenage appetites — eat!”

The lanterns flared, the trays shimmered, and the Great Hall roared to life again.

- End Chapter 1 -

—————————

Thanks for reading! Leave comments of your reviews below it would greatly be appreciated!

If you guys like it, I will send out chapter 2 soon!

#draco malfoy #drarry #harry potter #fanfiction #dmhp #draco x harry #drarry fanart #hp fanart #hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #ilvermorny #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fandom #Ilvermorny Fanfic

5 notes · View notes